The Night Vigil
by freakinwinky
Summary: The story of an epic battle between a werewolf, a metamorphmagus, the mind, and the heart. HBP era
1. St Mungos Hospital

_Disclaimer: All Characters and Settings recognizable within this story are the property of J.K Rowling_

**The Night Vigil**

**Chapter one: St. Mungo's Hospital**

It is not supposed to work like this.

I am not supposed to be here. I know that you will wake eventually and that you will be fine. The others, even your own family, left when they heard this news.

There was no need to stay, it was much more important to go home. To sleep while they... while all of us, still have the luxury of sleeping soundly.

I told them this. I told them all to leave, to go home, and to rest. We could come and see you in the morning, when the healers had projected that you would wake.

Once they were gone, I told myself something entirely different: _Just five more minutes_.

I simply wanted to make certain you were not interrupted. You were, after all, entitled to a safe, completely sound sleep the same as the rest of them.

That, at least, is what I told myself.

A lie I fabricated months ago, when I began keeping watch over you, the nights you slept on the couch at Grimmuald place. Somehow I couldn't will myself to sleep when I knew you were there. When you were so close to me, mere steps from my bedroom door.

My mind softly, yet insistently, told me to let you be. Every night it forced me to see that you were indeed safer without me.

That you would sleep...that you would live more soundly without me keeping watch. My logic told me; quite rightly, that I would only wake you from what otherwise would have been a blissful, peaceful, dream filled rest. That my presence would only harm you.

I knew that was logical, I knew my mind was right.

But that did not stop the fact that when I heard you asleep in the next room, my body would find its way out of my bed. While my mind still protested fervently my feet would stubbornly make their way to a wooden chair by the old couch. There, my mind would finally concede defeat and allow me to hold my silent vigil until dawn.

I knew, even then, that it was not right.

I told myself that it would only be for a few moments then, too. Just to make sure no death eater, or dementor, or dark haired, sleep deprived, fugitive came bursting into the room to disturb your slumber.

Even after I took to sleeping in that old wooden chair, the nights that you slept on my couch, I told myself that I would stop eventually. That this fierce desire for your protection would burn it's self out.

Surely it would. If these strange feelings that burned in my soul every time I looked at you, every time I watched over you as you slept, went unspoken… they could not possibly sustain themselves, let alone grow.

They could do nothing but die.

And then I could go back to what it should have been.

I could go back to...loving you yes, but as a friend, A little sister, or perhaps a niece.

After a while, I told myself, I would love you as Sirius had.

Yes, soon I would forget all the night vigils I had kept with much more consistency than was entirely healthy or fair. I would forget the true reason I spent nights by your side as you slept.

I would set aside all the images engraved horribly in my mind of your soft pink lips and the gentle curves of your body, which had begun to invade my dreams.

After a while, I would take all my hateful fantasies, of your light, youthful voice, whispering my name, and toss them away as merely deluded dreams of a lonely old werewolf

It wasn't supposed to work like this.

I wasn't supposed to let those all too complicated, jumbled, nightly desires to seep into the daylight.

I was not supposed to yearn for your presence so much so that I went out of my way to be near you. I was not supposed to revel in the light playful fire that burned in your eyes every time I used your true name.

I had not meant for any of my strange, utterly selfish, ridiculous desires to show themselves to you at all. Looking back, I realize that I never took enough notice of the small things, which gave me away.

The way I held your gaze a fraction of a second too long in otherwise casual encounters. Or, the way I took a little too much pleasure in catching you before you fell against that 'bloody troll foot umbrella stand'.

These were luxuries, which I would not have dared allow myself in the early days. The beginnings of this...infatuation would you call it? Yes infatuation. Merely a fascination, which will pass with time. Which _must _pass.

That is all I can think while I'm standing here at your bedside long after the others have left. While I'm starring down at your small form as it twists only slightly on the sterile white bed, beneath my gaze.

Sirius is gone.

I am all that is left to protect you. So I must. Even from myself.

I see it now, as clearly as ever. This infatuation...these nightly vigils must end.

If they will not end on their own, I will have to force it out. As of yet I'm not sure how to do this. I'm not certain if it is even possible. But I must try. If only for your sake my little Nymph...no, not mine...never mine. You will never belong to me. You must never belong to me. I must remind myself of this constantly. Every hour of every day if necessary until I am able to drill it into the more stubborn corners of my mind.

I must repeat the mantra that has been in the back of my mind since my ridiculously rebellious hormones began to lay claim to you. You are not mine...

'Wotcher Remus'

'Tonks! They said you wouldn't be awake until morning.'

'Where am I?'

'St. Mungos. You took quite a nasty fall.'

'Belatrix?'

I nod as you yawn, bringing your small pale fingers to your mouth.

'They've said you'll be all right. The healer knows more than I do. Would you like me to get her for you?'

You yawn once more as your eyes begin to droop.

'No, that's all right. What about the others? 'S Harry OK?'

It sounds like such a simple question coming from you. It takes me off guard and I'm not quite certain how to answer. If you only knew...

'Harry's fine. They...well...we'll discuss it in the morning. Everyone else will be here then.'

We can tell you in the morning. Now is not the time for such a horrifying revelation. Not when you look so peaceful using the heel of your hand to rub your eyes. Suddenly I wonder if, after tonight, you will ever look so peaceful again.

'Will you still be here?'

Another question which paints the very picture of innocence. If you only knew...

'Yes, I'll be here.'

'That's all right then'

Smiling lightly, you begin to turn to your side again.

I feel compelled to say it even though I know you will correct me, even though I know it is far too bold for such an old man, even though this is hardly the time or place, I can not help the words that slip seamlessly from my lips:

'Good night, Nymphadora'

'You know Remus?'

I brace myself to smile too affectionately while you chide me

'It's funny how when you say it, I don't mind quite so much.'

And with this you close your eyes, blissfully unaware that your sweet confession has condemned me never to use that name again.


	2. Number 12 Grimuald Place

Chapter Two: Grimuald Place 

You've stopped using it. And I don't know why.

I know it's a silly thing to be obsessed about at a time like this, and it's not as if it makes all that much difference in the grand scheme of things. Still, it bothers me.

I've always liked to know the whys of things. I've asked questions about everything since...well, since before I can even remember. My mother used to say that I could kill a thousand cats with my curiosity

I've never been afraid of the answers to my questions, even when I got older and the answers became more frightening...more real. I wasn't afraid to ask about Sirius, for instance.

I wasn't afraid when I asked you to tell me everything that happened after I fell. I wasn't afraid to hear who he had been fighting when the hex knocked him behind the black veil. I wasn't afraid to realize that if I had only stayed on my feet...

I was shocked. Angry. I hated myself for a while. But I wasn't afraid.

Then why am I afraid now?

Why am I afraid as I'm walking toward the sitting room door, knowing that I'll find you on the old couch, pouring over the Evening Prophet, or one of your books?

I know precisely what to ask.

I've worked it out, specifically so that I won't have to relive the dreaded St. Mungo's incident. I still cringe when I think of that.

Of course, it wasn't exactly a dramatic confession of my never-ending love. It wasn't even a confession really. Still, it was enough.

The next morning, when I remembered what I had said, I was mortified with myself. Utterly convinced that: 'When you say it I don't mind so much,' was a mere sentence structure away from: 'you know Remus? I really would like to marry you and have lots of sex and little multicolored wolf cubs'

How could I have been so stupid?

Of course that was before you told me about...Sirius. Since then I haven't been quite so focused on making the confession I have been practicing for a little less than a year.

Tonight, I simply want to know why. No...I need to know why every time I've fallen these past few days you haven't caught me. Even when I tripped deliberately in your presence.

I want to know why, even when we're alone together...when I'm pouring my heart out to you, the only person who has the patients to listen to me, you never meet my eyes.

And most of all, I need to know why you never say my name anymore.

I didn't notice it the first few days. After all you didn't _always_ say it. Just when you were in a particularly mischievous mood, or when you said good night to me and I could almost see...something strange happen in your eyes.

It was only after you said goodbye to me, the day at the train station, when we went to send Harry off that I really noticed.

I had expected you to say goodbye like you always did. I even _wanted_ you to say it.

But instead of the usual, gentle: 'Goodbye Nymphadora' I got, 'Take care Tonks,' instead.

I want to know why. There must be a reason. Is it because I'm so bloody obvious, I've frightened you off? Is it that Sirius is gone and things change when something that big happens? Do you even notice that it's changed? Or is it just me being the stupid little schoolgirl again?

I know these aren't big questions like, why did Sirius have to die? Or why can't I change myself as often as I used to? Or why does everything suddenly seem to have turned upside down? But that's never stopped me before.

I need to know the answers to my silly questions just as much as I need to know the answers to the big ones. And I've never been afraid to ask.

Then, why are my feet so uncharacteristically soft as they walk slowly and purposefully toward the fire, where, as expected, I see you reading on the couch?

Why haven't I said anything yet? I have to. I know I've got to say something. But working up the nerve to form words, when your looking so intensely focused and the light from the fire is reflecting slightly in your eyes, suddenly seems a rather difficult task.

I'll settle for clearing my throat.

'Tonks?'

'Wotcher Remus,' I manage to say, though much more quietly than I had intended.

'Come in'

I walk, slowly and deliberately, to the couch as you move aside to make room for me.

As I sit down, you're looking at me with those huge golden eyes illuminated by the fire and I'm having a very hard time thinking about my questions.

I have to say something.

'Anything good in there?' I nod to your copy of the Evening Prophet, which is now lying on the table. I try to smile, I really do, but I'm horrified when it comes out in more of a grimace.

'More of the same. A few more ministry approved safety tips...'

You pause for a moment and you look a bit...embarrassed.

'...There's a story about the Werewolf communities underground. Apparently Greyback's on the prowl again.'

'Greyback?'

I suddenly recognize the name and my old curiosity kicks in again.

'Is he the one from the last war?'

Suddenly it all comes back to me. How could I have forgotten something so important?

'He's the one who goes after kids, right? The one who...'

I can see you wince, and immediately I force myself to stop talking.

Not for the first time, I wish I had just kept my bloody mouth shut.

After a moment, however, you answer evenly:

'Yes, the same. More and more werewolves are listening to his arguments. Particularly in the underground.'

'Oh, That's not good news for us is it?'

'I'm afraid not'

You're smiling that vaguely sad smile again. The one that melts my heart every time I see it.

'We'll be moving out soon,' I say a little too hastily.

'Yes. The sooner the better, after all if this house is cursed...'

' Knowing my Mum's family it could be something really horrible.'

'To tell the truth, I doubt they would be able to contest the will. Still...better to be safe.'

'Yeah.'

Silence once more. Did I ever mention how much I hate silence?

'Tonks? Is something wrong?'

'No. I'm fine'

You're not convinced, I can tell. Another moment passes in stupid bloody silence.

'Tonks?'

I wish you would use the other name.

'Yes?'

'Is there something you wanted to ask me?'

'Why don't you say it anymore?'

'Say what?'

'My name.'

'I do say your name.'

'You know what I mean...my first name'

' I thought you didn't like people calling you by your first name.'

'I didn't...I mean I don't. But, I just...'

I'm stuttering. Why am I stuttering? I must sound like a complete idiot.

'I just...got used to hearing you say it I guess. And now, you never use it anymore, and I... I was just wondering.'

I wait for you to answer, and I can't help but notice that you're taking an awfully long time.

'Have you ever considered that I've finally conceded defeat?' You ask in that even, professor-ish voice, which, I suppose, is left over from your year at Hogwarts.

'I've come to realize that you don't like your first name, you never will, and it doesn't do any good to pester you about it'

'That's never stopped you before'

'Yes, well things...change.'

You turn away and begin to pick up the prophet again. Trying to indicate that the conversation is over even though we both know that it's not.

'I know that things change, but,that never did.'

'It's just a name Tonks. Why does it matter to you so much?'

You say this softly, as if to yourself. Your voice sounds as if you're in pain, as if someone is hurting you. Why?

'Because I...'

I suddenly feel horribly and ridiculously compelled to say exactly what I'm thinking. Knowing that what I'm thinking more or less mounts to a full-blown confession. I'm too close. I should stop.

'Because what Tonks?'

'Because...I miss it.'

Oh well, no time like the present.

'...I miss having you say my name, and I miss pestering you because of it. I miss you catching me when I fall, and I miss being able to look at you without feeling like I've done something wrong.'

'You haven't done anything-'

'Then why? Why did everything have to change all of a sudden? I mean it was bad enough loosing Sirius but now I-'

Here it comes.

'I'm starting to think that I miss you even more.'

'There's no reason for that, I haven't gone anywhere.'

'I-I know you haven't...really, but you just don't do the little things anymore. I've only seen you maybe twice in the past month, we used to be around each other all the time. I mean...more often than not we were sent on assignment together, we always seemed to be in the kitchen or the sitting room at the exact same time and it was usually you who ended up catching me when I tripped over my own two feet, it was you who woke me up in the mornings...'

For some reason you're looking embarrassed

'You were always...there, and now you're still here but your not, because all the little things are gone. All the little things that made me fall in love with you and..and...'

'Tonks...'

It's not until you say my name that I realize what exactly it is that I've just said. That I realize what it means.

'I should go.'

'Tonks Please wait!'

You've grabbed my hand and I can feel a heat rising through my arm and filling my entire body. You can feel it too, can't you? That's why you've dropped it as if it had burned you

'Let me explain.'

I don't want to look at you. I know the moment I turn around to meet your eyes I will see the sad, amused, pitiful smile that I've been so afraid of for so long. But something soft and pleading in your voice forces me to turn from the door and look at you in shock.

I don't see the smile at all. Instead, I'm met with two large, beautiful eyes filled with...sadness yes, but also desire, and something else that I can't quite place.

'Tonks I...I know this will be hard for you to understand.'

'Why will it be so hard? I'm not a child Remus, you can tell me anything. I just want to know why.'

'It-it's complicated.'

Your voice is almost breaking now. I've never heard it do that.

'But, surely you must know how dangerous it is to become...close to someone at a time like this. Particularly...'

'Particularly what Remus?'

'...Particularly someone like me.'

'What do you mean someone like you?'

'You know what I mean. Someone who is unemployed, twelve years your senior, and someone who could be... who is...dangerous.'

'But what if I don't care about any of that? What if I love you anyway?'

There it was...the official, full-blown, no holds bared confession. Strangely, I feel a wonderful sense of relief at getting it out. Indeed, at that moment I'm thinking very much on shouting it at the top of my lungs from the rooftops: 'I love you Remus Lupin!'

Apparently you have no inclination of shouting anything at the moment. For now, you look as pained as ever, if not more so.

'Tonks...you might _think _that you love me now. It's easy to say when you're on the outside, but you really have no idea how little I have to offer you. I have nothing, no job, no home...'

'You'd have me. I'd have you. That's enough...always has been'

You look at me again with those sweet eyes, and lift your hand as if to touch my cheek, but think better of it. Instead you walk over to the fire and start pacing

'You deserve so much more than that. You deserve a home, a family, you deserve to live without the fear that someday...'

'I'm not afraid of that. I know everything there is to know about you. I've been here, in the house, when you've transformed. You take your potion, you're safe.'

'Not always.'

I'm really starting to get angry now. Why do you have to be so damn noble?

'I know you would never hurt me.'

'And how do you know that?'

You're the professor again. I can hear it in your voice.

'Because...I've...I've started to realize why you never say my name anymore and why you never catch me when I fall.'

'Why is that?'

I can't possibly state it without sounding arrogant, or child like or stupidly optimistic. So, with a brief moments hesitation, I decide to do what I do best. I ask:

'Do you love me?'

'That has nothing to do it.'

'I thought it had everything to do with it.'

You look at me a moment. It's a gentle look, almost nostalgic.

'I remember a time in my life, when I thought it was the answer to everything too...It's not Tonks. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be.'

You take up your paper once more before looking at the clock.

'It's getting very late, you should head off to your flat.'

I can't imagine how, but I would much have preferred your sad polite smile at my confession. At least then I would know that there was no chance. At least then I wouldn't have to hear your voice so broken, or see your eyes look so horribly sad. At least then I would know that it was only my heart breaking.

Do you know how much I hate seeing you like this? Do you know that both of us are standing here dying because of your misplaced sense of honor?

That's why I won't give up on you just yet.

So, I make one last attempt.

'I'll only go...if you say my name.'

You close your eyes not even daring to look up from your page.

'Tonks, please! Don't do this to me. Not now.'

'Just one more time, could you say goodbye to me like you used to?'

You heave a sigh and finally, turn your head to look me directly in the eyes. And now I know what that one missing ingredient is in your look that sits between, sadness, desire and love.

'Fine then. Good night...Nymphadora.'

You take you're time saying it this time, allowing your voice to glide over each syllable of my true name. And I can't help but love the sound. So, just before I leave the sitting room, I look back once more in time to see a single tear, illuminated by the fire crawl slowly down your cheek.

It is in this moment, that I make my silent vow: I will never give up on you Remus Lupin. Never.


	3. Headmaster's office, Hogwarts

**Chapter Three: Headmaster's office, Hogwarts**

You're avoiding me, I can tell.

Though, I cannot say that I blame you. Not after that night. I've counted the days, the hours the minutes, since I broke your heart...since I saved you from so much more pain.

Yes, I've saved you and now you hate me for it. I keep telling myself that if you could only see, if you only understood...but if you understood, then you would not be you.

If you had seen all the hard cruel lessons the world has taught me, you would not have the sweet youthful innocence that manifests it's self in your movements. If you understood all the reasons why certain things cannot be, there would be no need to protect you.

There would be no need to keep my distance for fear of staining you, of harming you.

But, since you are you, the danger is present. It has become, if anything clearer in these three days since we have spoken. You are what the world needs. You are the future.

I am a relic that is meant to keep you whole and safe, and as untarnished as possible. This is my charge and I will see it through until some one else comes along. Someone who is as young and whole as you are.

I have known from the beginning that this is how it must be.

I knew all along that it was not right to become so close to you. I knew that I had no right to watch you. No right to dream of things that would never become mine.

I had no right to tarnish your thoughts. To make you believe that all dreams become reality. To make you hope for so much less than what you are meant to have.

And I know that what you are now is my doing. I know that your mournful disposition, your lanky brown hair, your dull gray eyes which were once so bright, are my creation.

I do not deny that there are times when I hate myself for it. I do not deny that there are times when I wish I had not turned away at your simple request. There are times when I wish a great many things.

There are moments during the day when I play your words over and over again in my head as though they were a tune on a broken record. _'I love you.'_

I have heard you whisper these words in my dreams for nearly a year now. I never before dared to believe that they could be spoken aloud, in the light of day or early evening.

I always assumed that these were words saved for the dead of night. That such confessions and sweet utterances were only played out within the deluded fantasies of a lonely old man.

It never occurred to me that one day such a confession would be drawn from you, a confession...a love I could not accept. I did not think that the world could be so cruel.

I am forced to remind myself almost constantly that I have only done what was necessary. I have acted bravely. I have stabbed myself to keep you from bleeding. I know I have done what is best.

But the moments of self loathing for my brave act- the moments when I wish for more than I can ever be permitted to have-come with increasing frequency.

For, every time I see you now, I find myself longing for your light smile. I find myself dreaming of an alternate reality where you are as bright as you once were. I imagine that I had not turned you away. That somehow...

It is increasingly dangerous, to think such things, I know.

But, no mater how often I tell myself what is best, the darkest corners of my mind remain steadfast and stubborn in their dreams, in their longings...

This is why I must perform one more brave act for your sake. One more act that I know you will not understand.

I do fear what I am about to do. In fact it has been my greatest fear for many years now. I know that fear is the reason I have put this off longer than I should have.

I have been avoiding this moment, just as you have been avoiding me these past three days. I have always known that this was inevitable, no matter how far I've tried to run from it. Now it has become essential.

For, try as I may, I cannot avoid this duty, anymore than you and I can avoid each other. We will spend more than moments together, just as surely as I will always be outcast from all normal walks of life.

When that time comes, you will argue with me once again. I know that you will. And I fear that, eventually, the dark, stubborn corners of my mind will over rule my better judgment.

And that fear, has recently begun to eclipse all others.

It is that fear that takes me to Dumbledore tonight. One week after he has asked me to take on this position I am at last ready to accept.

And so, it is with a strange churning in my chest that I step up the stairway to his office. I only made the appointment last night though I know I should have done it three days ago. I should have known the moment you made your confession...

'Come in Remus'

'Good evening sir,'

I remember this office all too well. The sight of it brings every memory, both pleasant and un, back more vividly, perhaps than any other place in the castle.

'Sit please,'

'Thank you sir'

The same armchair sits in front of the desk, as always. The same silver instruments whiz and whirl on the counter tops...just as they did nearly twenty years ago, when the four of us, James, Sirius, Peter... would find ourselves in this office either for something we had done, or for something we had seen. We used to pass the time by guessing what each one of these instruments did. Some of the things we came up with...

'The move from Grimmuald place went smoothly I take it?

'Yes, everything we've kept there is gone. We might have to check it once more, but from what we can tell, everything is exactly as it was before...'

Before Sirius returned. Before the warbegan all over again. Of course I don't say this. I can tell that it does not need to be said.

'With Alastor checking over the place, I do not doubt it. And we will know for sure by tomorrow at the very latest, weather a permanent move is necessary.'

'Tomorrow sir?'

'I am going tonight to retrieve Harry Potter from his aunt and uncle's home in Surrey. We'll know then.'

'Your not bringing him back to Grimmuald place are you?'

_I_ can hardly stand being in that house after what happened. The thought of what it will do to Harry...

'Don't worry Remus. I have no intention of bringing Harry to Grimmuald place.'

'Then how...?'

He gives me one of his smiles. The sort that, no matter how old I become, never fail to make me feel as if I am a four year old still convinced that a monster is lurking in the closet.

'Remus, you of all people should know that there is more than one way to uncover, even the darkest of magic.'

I don't see how this is possible. I cannot see how any of the Black mansion's secretes can be uncovered with out entering the house. Still I _do_ know enough to trust Dumbledore in this.

All the same, I am glad, when the subject is changed to what we both know to be, the true matter at hand.

'Now, Remus, I gather you have given thought to the issue we discussed approximately one week ago?'

Dumbledore seems much more solemn now.

'I have'

'And, what conclusion have you come to?'

I cannot help but hesitate. I know what I must do; I know why it must be done. Why does my old fear suddenly seem so evident? Why do I feel the old churning in my stomach at the thought of what I am facing? Why can I not...?

'I'll do it. I'm ready,'

'You realize of course, there is no turning back?'

'Of course, none.'

He fixes me with a piercing stare and I know that he is searching my thoughts. I know he will find you there. I make no attempt to hide you. I know it truly does not matter one-way or the other.

'Very well', he says in a resigned voice.

He knows. Suddenly, I find that I do not mind. In fact, I feel almost comforted at the thought that someone will know my reasons. That someone will keep my secrets.

'You will enter the camp in September.'

'September?' I feel compelled to ask.

I hadn't expected to see you again after tonight. Not for several months at the very least. Surely he must know what I fear from you.

'Yes Remus, September. It will after all, take several months to set your affairs in order, to remove your self slowly from wizarding society...'

Surely, he cannot let me face the inevitable. That scenario that would only lead to chaos. He must have seen it in my mind. He must realize why I am facing my greatest fear he must realize...

'And, I am sure you will want that time to say goodbye,'

He fixes me with another piercing stare and I know what he is trying to do.

'Surely I won't need that much time. And it's not as if I'll be gone forever, after all...'

'...Take it from an old man, Remus. Time is the one thing you can never have enough of. Especially for something like this.'

'Something like this?'

'You must recognize that there is a possibility that you will not return from this mission at all.'

'I know that.'

'Then, I am sure you will agree that to spend ample time with those you love before leaving on such a mission is a small price for the Order to have to pay.'

'I-yes sir.'

I was so certain that, Dumbledore of all people would understand why I must leave, and as soon as possible. Dumbledore always seemed to know the way of things. Ever since I was small Dumbledore knew exactly what to say. His words always made me feel comfortable and safe.

But now, I feel more frightened and exposed than I have ever felt in my life.

'There now,'

Dumbledore is smiling in a vaguely amused manner, almost as if he is speaking to a child who has not yet learned to behave himself.

'I think, Remus, when you give it a chance, you will find that time has quite astonishing abilities.'

I can do nothing but nod slowly.

I know what this means. I've heard it before, and not just from you.

My mother was the first to tell me that I couldn't run from my problems. Many others have followed in her wake over the years.

The healer I saw regularly as a child after the full moon put it the most bluntly. I distinctly remember him saying to my parents: '...So withdrawn. I'm afraid to say that if the boy keeps up this way, he'll be living in a cave, cut off from civilization by the time he's seventeen.'

Then, after him came James ('You can't hide from the ladies forever Moony'), Lily ('You know Remus, one of these days your going to learn how to trust people'), Wormtail ('How is it that you're always so quiet Moony?'), and-Just last year- Sirius, ('Eventually that wall of yours is going to come crumbling down, and when it does I'll be on the other side laughing myself stupid').

In short, everyone I have ever cared about in my life has, in his or her own way, called me out on this.

I know that they mean well, and I know there is truth to what they say. But it is so difficult to see from the outside. All of them see me only in the light of day. It seems impossible to them that such a small boy...such a controlled man...could ever become something so terrifying...so dangerous.

Even James and Sirius who were with me each full moon couldn't truly understand the force of such a transformation. Not even Dumbledore could possibly comprehend the sheer terror of watching such a creature as a werewolf lash out with sheer instinctual force. None of them understand that a werewolf transformed knows no reason, no compassion, no forgiveness, no love. Only the driving urge to bite, to kill.

If the others truly understood the danger of associating with such a creature surely they would, at the very least, understand why I must keep my distance. In fact, sometimes I wonder if they would stay at all...I wonder if you would stay.

Suddenly my mind grants me one last blissful image. I imagine you asleep, just as you slept on the old couch in Grimmuald place. I can see your un-morphed, brown hair tangled gently across your face. Your hands are curled into small fists against your chest, and for one moment I am allowed to forget that I am old, and unemployed and a dark, deadly creature.

I can imagine that I am allowed to sleep beside you. I can imagine that when you wake, you will expect to find me there, stroking your hair, kissing your lips... I can imagine a lot of secret things.

'That matter seems settled then'

The sound of Dumbledore's voice breaks my silent revelry and I am once again in his office, starring at his instruments, wishing, for perhaps the first time in my life, that I were somewhere else.

I nod and begin to leave the office before he calls me back.

'Oh, and Remus,' I turn with some difficulty to face him again

'If you happen to run into Nymphadora, would you mind telling her that I like the pink hair best, should she be in the mood to change it in the future?'

His eyes are suddenly twinkling with abandon and I'm almost certain I can see him wink.

'If I see her, I'll try to tell her sir.'

And I leave the office with a large and painful feeling in my abdomen, that will not ease no matter what I tell myself.

It had to be done, I know. Someday they will all understand.

Someday, not soon perhaps, but someday, you will understand.


	4. The Burrow

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up. It's harder to do now that I'm back at school and everything is very stressful. But this one is extra long so. Hopefully you'll like it and review accordingly. (As you have all done so well for the previous chapters. Thank you very much!)

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**Chapter Four: The Burrow**

I'm sick of avoiding you.

For the past three days I've been trying to save myself from having to face you.

I didn't think I could stand it. Especially after I'd made a bloody fool of myself, twice.

I thought that maybe, if I stayed away from you I could forget that any of it ever happened at all.

If I didn't see you, I could pretend that you were just off on one of your top-secret jobs for the Order, that you would come back soon and things would be exactly like they were before I asked about my name.

I could imagine that you would smile at me in that polite, simple way when you came back, just like you used to do when you returned from all your order missions. And then you would say my name: 'Hello Nymphadora'

Just like you used to.

I've spent these first few nights since we have spoken pretending exactly that.

Not all night mind you. (That would be a bit much, even for you). Just in those few golden moments before I fall asleep.

I lie on my back and dream up new ways to admonish you for saying my name when I've told you that I hate it. I've imagined that you would give me that smile that shows a little too much affection and apologize to me without really meaning it.

I've pretended other things in these moments too. Sometimes I'll pretend that you aren't a stubborn arse. That you didn't turn me away that night. I imagine that, when I wake up in the morning, you will be beside me, stroking my hair, kissing my lips. I pretend...well, I pretend a lot of things. But that's not really the point.

The point is I can't do it anymore. The point is it doesn't matter that you're being ridiculous at the moment, and it doesn't matter that you have surpassed the mule for the title: most stubborn creature on earth. The point is I'm going to go insane if I don't see you soon.

Because as much as I like to pretend at night, in those few lovely moments between asleep and awake, it's the day light that I can't stand.

The daylight, when the sun floods the window to illuminate the floor of my flat. My flat that, for some reason, seems to be littered with your essence.

I can hardly look at a phonograph, or my books, or sometimes even a bloody teabag anymore with out sinking into another state of depression.

At first I tried getting rid of them. All the things that caused me the most grief: the books about Magical Beasts, a memoir entitled 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart', the phonograph along with several of my jazz records were all shoved into a tiny cupboard and locked away. I even tried to forget where they were.

It didn't work.

Some things, the moon for example, could not simply be shoved away into a closet and forgotten. And, as fate would have it, it was the moon, or a stranger at the pub who had your eyes, or a word caught from a conversation I heard on the street that reminded me of you the most.

Those were the things that caused tears to come to my eyes once again.

I know it's just a bit pathetic. (All right, more than a bit) And I do realize that in today's day and age, no self-respecting, independent career oriented, woman should live this way.

I suppose it doesn't help that the ministry's put me on duty, answering dementor attacks. Or that we've had nearly a dozen ministry officials just disappear into thin air over the past two weeks. Or that Scrimgeour is looking for death eaters and dark wizards in all the wrong places.

I've told myself that each one of these excuses provide me with very valid and sound reasons for being more than a bit depressed.

But in the end I know that they are just that. Excuses. And that, really, it's all my own bloody fault.

Mooning about, looking like ten kinds of hell, all because some man doesn't want me.

I honestly wish you _had_ said that you were 'flattered', (which really means 'I'm not at all interested'), instead of 'Love has nothing to do with it', (which really means ' I love you but I'm going to play at being the noble, tragic, hero type character because I'm afraid of loosing you').

True, if you _didn't_ want me, it would hurt for a while. It would be painful. But it wouldn't be this.

This isn't just pain. It's the sort of pain that leads to other things, like frustration, and then dreams, then imaginings, then expectations that only lead back to frustration again.

And it's this frustration, I suppose, that finally forced me to accept one of Molly Weasly's floo call dinner invitations which had become something of a weekly occurrence.

Today instead of my usual excuse:

'I can't tonight Molly; I've got a lot of work to get done'

I accepted with:

'You know what Molly? I think I will come tonight. You're right; I could use a good meal,' all the while hoping against hope that you would be there as well.

And now here I am, sitting at the Weasley's kitchen table next to Bill, listening to Fleur ramble on and on about the horrible English weather, and you are no where in sight.

My only source of entertainment so far has been watching Ron's sleeve continually land in the butter as he stare's at Fleur transfixed.

We're halfway through desert now and I'm getting anxious. Ginny's already been sent to bed, and Hermione joined her soon after, mumbling something about homework, but sending a distinctly offensive glance Fleur's way.

Why in the name of Merlin haven't you shown up yet?

Was this just another one of Molly's not so subtle match making tricks?

It's no secret that she's trying everything she can to upset the Weasly/Delacour wedding scheduled for next summer. And I'm beginning to suspect that she didn't seat me next to Bill on a mere whim.

I honestly don't know who she thinks she's fooling. I mean it's sort of hard to miss Bill and Fleur continually exchanging saliva over their plates

(I swear if they do it one more time I'm going to loose half my dinner before it's even been digested.)

Still, it's not as if I blame Molly for trying. God knows I would do anything and everything I could think of to keep Fleur from becoming _my_ daughter in law.

'...And Ze rain 'ere is simply 'orible! I wonder 'ow any one can stand it. In France we never 'ave rain for more Zan two days at a time and-'

'When did you say Remus would be joining us Arthur?'

Apparently Molly's getting sick of Fleur's rambling too.

'I'm not exactly sure.'

Arthur's brow is furrowed while as he takes another bite of his custard.

'I know he scheduled a meting with Dumbledore tonight. Maybe it took longer than he expected.'

'Oh, I heard about that. Isn't Dumbledore sending him on some sort of mission?'

Bill asks in with an annoyingly casual air. I however don't see anything casual about it.

Why haven't I heard anything about a mission?

'Yes, I think so. I definitely heard him mention something about it last week.'

'Where's he sending him?' I can't help asking a little too hastily, so that everyone else at the table looks up. I've just realized that it's the first time I've spoken in nearly thirty minuets.

Perfect. Now you're not the only one who knows what an idiot I've become.

'Ron, don't you think it's about time you joined the girls?'

Molly asks as she and Arthur exchange dark looks.

'Why?'

Ron asks with a half bemused half eager expression on his face.

'Wait…does this have something to do with the-'

'Upstairs Ron, listen to your mother.'

Ron looks to Arthur surprised. It's usually his mother who doles out the discipline.

With one last very curious glance around the table, he gets out of his seat and walks off toward the stairwell grumbling under his breath.

'I theenk I vill turn in az vell.'

Thank god.

'I vill need to be up early tomorrow morning'

And with one last good night kiss from Bill, the French veela floats ostentatiously from the room.

Once certain both Ron and Fleur are out of earshot, Arthur proceeds to answer my question.

'Of course we can't be certain but…I know that Dumbledore's been looking for a way to get word to the werewolf packs around the country.'

'You mean the ferals? Greyback…?'

Dumbledore would never do something like that! Not to you! Not considering your… history with Greyback.

'We don't know for sure yet.' Arthur sounds consoling and Molly's looking at me oddly.

The more I think about it, you _are_ in an ideal position, being a werewolf yourself. And you would probably be stupid enough to do it if Dumbledore told you to. It would fit in so well with the tragic, noble, hero bit you seem to be playing.

But…no…Dumbledore wouldn't…he couldn't ask you to go. He knows what Greyback…what any of those feral types, would do to you if they found out. It's suicide!

'Hello everyone,'

Your voice echoes from the hall way and I suddenly want desperately to kiss you or hit you, I can't decide which. So instead of doing either, I keep my eyes firmly locked on the half eaten custard on my plate.

'I'm sorry I'm late.'

I can hear you in the kitchen now; I casually attempt to take a bite of my custard praying that no one notices that my hands are shaking.

'Oh there's no need for an apology dear, we're just glad that you made it,'

Molly's up and fussing over you no doubt. I'm trying desperately not to look.

'I'll warm up a plate for you Remus. My word! You seem to get thinner every time I see you,'

I imagine that vaguely amused grin on your face as the chair scraps against the floor and you join the rest of us at the table.

'Tonks,'

I'm surprised to hear you say my name, even if it isn't the right one.

'Remus,' I say as casually as I possibly can with a half smile and a nod in your direction.

'Evening Remus,' Arthur says. I go back to my custard.

'Hello Arthur,'

'So, how did the meeting go?'

I risk looking up to see your reaction. Your face, however, looks as calm and unreadable as ever.

'Very well, I thought'

'So will you be leaving us then?'

'I'm afraid so, for a while at least,'

So it's true.

'Here you are dear.'

Molly's returned to the table with your newly heated plate.

'So, when will you be leaving Remus?'

Bill sounds as if he's asking about the weather.

'September.'

'Well, at least it's a while yet.'

Molly says with a small air of relief

'Yes,'

There is an awkward silence, in which I can't help but stare at you out of the corner of my eye, even though I try not to. Even though I'm trying to be angry with you for taking on such a mission, I'm still utterly transfixed. And I can't help but hate myself a bit for being so.

'Tonks,'

It's a moment before I realize that you've said my name. I look up in recognition. I don't trust myself to speak just yet.

'This is the first I've seen you at one of Molly's dinners in a while.'

'Yeah, well, been busy.'

I'm trying to sound as falsely cheerful as you do. I know I'm failing miserably.

'They've put me on watch fighting off dementor attacks.'

I'm not exactly sure why I say this. Maybe I'm trying to beat you at your own game. Maybe I'm trying to make you worry as much for me, as I'm worried for you. Maybe I'm trying to make you see (albeit in a very subtle way), that you care about me more than you'll let on.

I'm slightly put off when you don't even look up from your plate.

'Tough break Tonks,' Bill says though he also hardly appears concerned. 'That can't be easy. What was it? Three attacks this month?'

'Four' I say in spite of myself. I'm determined to attract your attention.

You simply clear your throat and take another bite of your mashed potatoes.

'Well, no wonder you're looking so pale!'

Molly appears scandalized. At least someone cares.

'Honestly. Out of the hospital a little more than a month and already they've put you on duty against those foul…'

I let Molly's rant wash over me as if she is no more than a song on the radio that I'm not particularly interested in listening to. I can't keep myself from openly glaring at you the rest of the meal, and I'm too angry to care if the rest of them notice.

Would it _kill_ you to at least pretend to show some sort of feeling? Even Fleur, the most vain, selfish, spoiled creature that I've ever met would show _some_ kind of concern if _Bill_ was being sent off to fight Dementors.

And I know for a fact that Bill would never leave Fleur to go off on some noble suicide mission even if Dumbledore _did_ ask him to.

But with _you_ it always has to be about what's logical to _you_ and what _you _think is best. It doesn't matter what any one else wants, or what anyone else might be feeling.

Apparently you're completely content to go on pretending that nothing's happened, and you're too blind to see that I can't anymore.

'I had bettered get going.' You say little less than an hour after you arrived.

'Oh won't you stay for coffee Remus? Tea perhaps?'

'No, no, I really should be leaving. But, thank you very much for a wonderful meal,'

And with that you rise from your chair and head out to the corridor through the kitchen, with only a moments hesitation, I get up from my chair to follow you.

I don't give up that easily after all.

I walk into the corridor and I can tell when you sense me behind you, because your shoulders suddenly tense as you reach for your bag.

'There's no need to see me out Tonks, I can-.'

'Don't go.'

I say this before I can stop myself. I hadn't intended to sound so small. So vulnerable.

'I'm tired. I need to get to sleep. You'll see me soon enough.'

'That's not what I mean.'

There's a pregnant pause here which tells me that you knew all along exactly what it was that I meant. A pause that tells me you don't quite know how to stop pretending.

'Please Remus, that mission…it's…it's…'

I can't seem to finish the sentence.

'It's no more dangerous than chasing after Dementors.'

You say this somewhat bitterly.

'It's my job.'

'As much as this mission is mine.'

I'm too angry to say anything to that.

'Trust me, I don't like this anymore than you do.'

You take my silence as an opportunity to reason with me. It won't work.

'Then _don't go_.'

'I have to.'

'What do you mean you have to? Dumbledore gave you a choice didn't he?'

'He _told_ me it was my decision. But this is war. No one has much of a choice anymore.'

'That's not true.'

'Yes, it is Tonks!'

You've begun to raise your voice. Another thing I've never heard you do before. You look as shocked with yourself as I do.

'It's me, isn't it?'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm the reason you're leaving. You're trying to get away from me.'

'Of course not.'

You sound thoroughly unconvincing as you say this. I don't think you've even managed to fool yourself.

'Then what is it?'

'Tonks please don't…'

'Don't what Remus? I can't change how I feel. And you, running away, isn't going to change it either.'

The words come before I can stop them. They seem to have touched a nerve all the same. You close your eyes trying desperately to collect yourself.

I've almost gotten through to you. I've almost shoved my way past the barrier you've built up. Just one more push…

'If you care about me at all…' I begin slowly and deliberately.

'You won't go.'

I watch carefully as the statement sinks in. For a moment, I can see a strange look in your eyes that makes me think that I've done it. I've gotten through to you. I've forced you to see you can't go on pretending anymore than I can.

I think for a moment think that all my silly little dreams just might come true. I think that you'll turn around and kiss me, right here in the middle of an only slightly abandoned corridor. That you'll tell me that you could never leave me. That you'll apologize for ever doubting me in the first place. And then it'll be happily ever after.

Just how I always imagined it.

'Good night Tonks,'

Suddenly you've walked out the door without looking back. And I'm alone again.

'Tonks?'

It's only when I hear Molly's voice that I realize that I've been standing alone in the corridor for several minutes, starring at the door.

'Tonks, dear, what's wrong?'

To my utter horror, I can feel tears pouring down my cheeks. I try desperately to wipe them away before I turn to face Molly giving her a forced smile.

'Nothing, I'm fine.'

She's not convinced and I don't blame her as I feel two more tears fall from the corners of my eyes.

I see her look from me to the door way where you disappeared. Her expression soon shifts from bewildered concern to bittersweet comprehension.

'Why don't you come back into the kitchen? I'll make us a pot of tea…'

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_Don't forget that reviews make me very happy!_


	5. The Underground

**Chapter Five: The Underground, October 31st**

I dream of you now. It's happened every night since September. Since I entered into the underground.

Of course this isn't anything particularly new. You have appeared in my dreams before, always in various forms. My dreams involving you grew steadily as the time passed. I suppose it is only natural for these subconscious longings to have evolved with my feelings, no matter how I work to suppress them. I expected that much.

I _didn't_ expect that you would invade my nightly mind with such precision. I hadn't expected my dreams of you to be so lucid, or for any of them occur with such consistency.

Before September, before I joined my fellows, my dreams of you were faded, held in a fog of mist. And though I would remember them when I woke the next morning, they never seemed quite real. They seemed to be part of a distant world, a world of perfection and life and beauty which was completely separated from the reality which surrounds the rest of us each day.

Even in my dreams you were something pure, and unblemished, to be held up on a pedestal

It seemed that even in my subconscious, I was certain to keep myself in check.

Even in my dreams I reminded myself that it would never, _could _never be reality. I would keep the images of you far enough removed so that I could never be caught up in them, so that there would be no mistake. They were fantasies nothing more.

Yet here, in this new feral territory, we are not taught to keep ourselves in check. Any attempt to do so is weakness. Here, we are expected to loose ourselves to primal instinct, we are expected to reject our all –too- human control.

Perhaps, then, it is the instinctual nature of this life into which I have thrown myself that brings about these new dreams.

Dreams which are anything but faded.

Dreams that test the use of every one of my senses in all too real a manner. Dreams that bring through such a fierce primal urge that it is a constant struggle to keep it at bay. Dreams that, like this new life, force my desires and my conscience to wage constant war with each other.

These new dreams that each night find me back at Number 12 Grimmuald Place, sitting in the chair, placed in front of the old couch. Each night I expect to find you safely asleep there, nestled under your small blanket. Each night I am surprised to find your usual space empty.

I am bewildered only for a moment before I see you turning and walking into the room from the direction of, (what appears to be), my bedroom. Each night you look the same. Your hair, hangs in soft, warm chestnut curls which gently frame your pale heart shaped face. These are a far cry from the dull matted locks which I have recently forced upon you.

Like wise, your eyes appear bright and dark, just as they were before I turned you away, before I saved you.

You wear a knee length, simple white night gown that once belonged to your mother. I have only seen you wear this to sleep on the couch once, when you had no other options. Apparently, that night gown is nearly as despised as your first name.

But, like your name, I can not help but be fascinated by the way it seems to fit you. Clinging to the curves of your body in such a way as to make me feel quite old and lecherous even to glance at you.

In the dreams I am allowed to do more than glance.

Indeed, your smile appears inviting at the very least. A certain air of mischief plays behind the fire in your eyes as you walk, ever so slowly, to the spot where I sit with a sense of anticipatory dread. For one reason or another, I fear what is to come.

It seems ages before you reach me. You circle the chair where I'm sitting, place your hands, gently on my shoulders, lean down to press your lips next to my ear, and whisper a seductive greeting. I can never recall exactly what it is you say, I can only remember the quickening pace of my heart as you pull yourself up to the back of my chair, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Immediately, your hands begin their work. Starting with my shoulders, you slowly, teasingly, rub the blades between your fingers. The sensation of your small, soft, pale hands rubbing against my back feels much too real.

I can not help but lean into your body as you caress me. Surely this is not too dangerous.Surely,in the dream, I will bepermitted to revel in the warmth of your curves moving subtly against me. Apparently this small display of weakness is not sin enough to condemn me, so I savor it.

I close my eyes, even though I realize I am already asleep. I will myself to remember how it feels to be so close to you. To be able to feel your warmth, your comfort, and your body pressed so willingly to mine.

It is only a few moments before you lean over to whisper slowly into my ear once more. You are so close to me now that I can smell your perfume of ginger, and white tea and exotic spices.

I remember the next words you speak to me. They are the same every night.

'Will you touch me Remus?'

In the beginning, the first dream I had in September, I welcomed these words with a passion. That was when I still believed in the safety of my dreams. When I believed that in dreams I could do what I liked.

I know better now…

I keep my hands firmly to my sides as you lift your lips with only the slightest hint of a disappointed pout. Your hands have now begun to move from my shoulders downward to softly, gently, caress my chest.

Your hands swiftly skip across patches of skin hidden only by a thin and worn shirt. I am both disturbed and comforted to realize how relaxing this gesture truly is. I am nearly appalled with myself when I admit how wonderful it is to think of you here. To think of you touching me, to imagine the feel of your lips, to dream of your sweet scent.

I know that, no matter how much time passes, it is still not right. All the same, I can not stop these dreams that invade my sleep. To tell the truth, I'm not certain that I would stop them, even if I was able to.

You continue for several more minutes, stroking, teasing, soothing…until eventually you lean forward and whisper once again.

'Touch me Remus. I know you want to.'

You know me too well.

Those simple words can not begin to describe the desire I feel. The sheer desperation burning in my heart; the throbbing ache to reach my hands backward to grab hold of your waist. To take you in my arms and envelope you completely.

But I know too much now about dreams and nightmares. I try with all my might not to be caught in the same trap. I know, however, that in the end, it is impossible.

My arousal grows with every stroke of your tiny fairy like fingers on my chest. You've grown bolder. You move your lips to kiss and nibble along my jaw as the steady rhythm of your hands moves ever lower along my chest.

The lightest touch from you seems to call out to the wolf inside me that is growing desperate for release. I know in the end who will win. Still, I try as best as I can to fight, to keep my darker, primal side at bay. Only a few more moments…

'Please, Remus, touch me! I need to feel your hands on me.'

I can hear a slight pang of desperation in your voice now, as your hands travel even further down towards the bottom half of my torso. This very nearly breaks my resolve. The thought of you in pain, emotional or physical, is near to torture.

And these past two months without you have been just that. Knowing how I have broken your heart, knowing that you live each day with dark circles beneath your eyes, and an even darker presence constantly following you in the form of your job, knowing that I can do nothing to help you.

I find myself dwelling on this, on you, constantly while I am here. Even while I am awake. This is another issue I hadn't completely expected to deal with.

Before September, before I entered the colony, I thought that coming here would make me forget you. I thought that living here, each day, on the edge of civilization, having to put so much effort into the mere task of surviving, would be enough to drive you from my mind completely.

Needless to say, it has not been successful.

Even here, everything I see seems to hold a trace of you. Patches of the pink colored hair you used to wear shows it's self in the flowers along the rocks of the feral caves. There are women here, werewolves, who have your eyes as they once were: bright, fiery, brown. There are others who have your eyes as they are now: Dull, murky, grey.

No matter where I go, who I turn to, I see you. It is as if you are haunting me. And I know that it is all in my worthless mind. That I seek out reminders of you in this dark and cold place to comfort myself.

I tell myself that I need to forget you. That I _want_ to forget you. I try as best I can to push away my own selfish desire. My pathetic need for your comfort, for your youth, for your love…

The colony should have made it clearer than ever that I could never even consider exposing you to this kind of life. A life on the edge of civilization, a life tied to that of an unspeakable, an outcast…a monster. No one would possibly choose such a path for their future.

Perhaps you realize that now. Perhaps, in my absence, logic has finally won you over. Perhaps you've moved on with your life.

Perhaps your hair is pink once more and your eyes bright and brown. Perhaps you have found solace in the arms of some young white knight who's eyes are as bright as yours are.

These thoughts should bring me relief. I know. If it is true it means I have saved you. It means that I have done my duty.

But instead when I consider this possibility, I am left with an even greater emptiness. A self-centered emptiness, but an emptiness none the less which, I have found, can only be abated by these cursed dreams.

This dream in particular, calls my attention back to it, as I feel your lips move gently across my neck. Your hands are ever diligently committed to their task of stroking, awakening, teasing, and soothing even the most intimate parts of my body. They've traveled below my waist line, sweetly caressing the insides of my thighs.

You continue to whisper, with increasing desperation.

'Touch me Remus, I want you.'

'Touch me Remus, I _need _you.'

'Touch me Remus, I love you!'

But I am determined to hold my resolve. I tell myself that tonight, I will not give into the temptation. No matter how prettily you beg me, no matter how painful it becomes, I will keep my hands still, my lips pursed closed. I will not allow myself even to sigh, or utter your name. Fear rules my life now, I know this. And I know it is not right to allow it to do so. However, at the moment, under the circumstances, I have no choice. Not when the alternative…

'Please Remus! I don't know how much longer I can stand this.'

I can hear the tears of frustration in your voice. You must know by now that tears are your worst and most powerful weapon. Both in the dreams and in reality, it nearly kills me to watch you cry.

It seems a cruel trick to play on an old werewolf; using his emotions, his very human heart against him. But I learned long ago that this is the way the world works, I will simply have to fight. Yes I will do all I can to distance myself. I will not give in…

'Remus, look at me.'

The command is gentle, as you take one of your hands from my thigh and move it to rest against my jaw. Slowly you guide my face with your hand until I am looking directly into your eyes, which have changed once again, into the dull murky grey shade of despair.

My stomach churns as I realize the shadowed bags beginning to protrude from underneath your eyes, the lovely brown ringlets of your hair beginning to dampen into heavy mousy locks. Worst of all, tears have formed as you look back at me forlorn, to utter one last helpless plea:

'Please…'

'Oh, Tonks.'

This is too much. I know I will not be able to help the instinct which forces me to reach out one hand to wipe away a tear that falls across your cheek. I know I will regret it, I always do.

Sure enough, the moment my hand so much as grazes your skin, the room is cloaked in darkness so complete I can not see the hand I have held out in front of me. The space surrounding me falls silent and frighteningly calm.

I can no longer feel you beside me. I search frantically, moving my hands, calling out your name; but the deadened silence only lengthens. Then, a piercing shriek cuts through the thick quiet.

I know it is your voice. Something inside tells me that you are screaming. I call your name once more before I hear the sound of something heavy fall to the ground next to me.

A sweet metallic taste fills my mouth. I know this taste well having felt so much of my own graze my lips during full moon. I know enough of this taste to realize, that the blood on my tongue, is not mine.

As soon as this revelation comes to mind, the faint light of dawn begins to fill the darkness. It is only when I see your mutilated body; see the gash in your throat where a large piece of flesh has been torn; feel the scars on your pale and once flawless skin; that I fully realize whose sweet blood is pooled inside my mouth.

I'm screaming now as I stumble backward.

Suddenly I am awake, I hardly notice that my voice has not stopped screaming for you, or that my face is covered in a mixture of sweat and tears.

This is the nightmare which invades my mind each night. Worst of all, it is a nightmare from which, I fear, I will never truly wake.

The danger that these dreams present is far too real. They feed upon my worst fear. That somehow, if I dare to accept your love, if I dare to so much as touch you, I will end up destroying you utterly.

You do not see this.

Your mind is filled with naïve happily ever after's. Even when everything is falling apart around you, you still believe that war, age, disease, can not hinder love.

I hate that I have to be the one to prove you wrong. I hate that I have to be the one to steal your innocence, to make you as bitter and cynical as the rest of us. I hate that I can not steal back a little of my own innocence. I hate that I can not take comfort in your touch.

I sometimes wonder if you dream of me.

I wonder if your dreams are as nightmarish as my own. Have the Dementors you fight everyday managed to work their way into your sub-conscious; making even your dreams dark and morose? Have I finally pushed you past the barrier of innocence and placed you in the bitter and cynical world that so many of us call reality?

Somehow, I don't think so.

I can not imagine that your night time ponderings are as dark as my own. I don't _want _to imagine them that way. I want to imagine that, in your dreams at least, I can be yours. I like to think that in your dreams your skin, your comfort, your love is not forbidden from my touch.

It is wrong, I know. But I take comfort in the realization that, in some beautiful, peaceful, parallel universe, I can claim you as my own.

My Tonks.

My Nymphadora.


	6. Hogsmead Village

**Chapter Six: Hogsmead November 17th**

It's full moon tonight.

That is all I can think as I'm sitting here at the corner table in the three broomsticks. I know it's a bit odd to be thinking about that on a night like this. I should not be thinking of the moon on such a perfect evening; with starlight and quaint shops lit with candles, a roaring fire in the pub hearth, and a perfectly attractive, (not to mention available), man sitting across from me.

It's unfair to him really, even if he doesn't realize it. Daniel Dawlish has been begging me to have a proper evening drink with him since September. Since we were stationed in Hogsmead. Every night, I've said no in various different forms.

'No, I have some paper work to fill out.'

'No, I already promised my mother I'd apparate to visit her tonight.'

'No, I have to do my laundry; you know how useless I am with house hold spells.'

'No, I have to wash my hair…'

Apparently he didn't take the hint. Either that or he's nearly as stubborn as you are.

Either way, I couldn't just keep turning him down night after night. I was bound to run out of excuses sometime.

Besides if Dawlish is really that adamant about having a drink with me, then who am I to break his heart? I've already seen enough broken hearts to last me a life time. The last thing I need is to be the cause of another.

Anyway, there's no harm in one drink right? Right. Besides, it's certainly not as if this is going anywhere. I mean, he's a decent bloke, sensible, good looking, an excellent auror but he's just not…

He doesn't _talk_ about the things I usually find interesting. For working in the classified area of the Ministry of magic, he really doesn't know a thing about politics, or anything that's going on in the other departments. He's not exactly the most discriminating when it comes to music either.

He'd never even _heard _of the weird sisters until I told him about them. I told him I'd play him one of their records on his phonograph sometime. This was the wrong thing to say. See, talking about phonographs made me think of you. Thinking of you made me remember the full moon. The full moon took me for another guilt trip.

This isn't right. I mean this whole situation just doesn't feel right. I don't know why.

Maybe the thought of you out in the mountains, among flesh eating monsters (who are absolutely nothing like you, even though you insist on calling them your equals), without wolfsbane, tearing yourself to shreds has something to do with it.

Why am I thinking about this?

After all, you can look after yourself can't you. You've spent years transforming on your own before wolfsbane was invented. Anyway, it's a bit rich of me to be worried about your safety. After all, you're the one protecting _me_ against those Dementors, even if you don't realize it.

In a way, I'm a bit glad that my patronus changed forms. I know it only enforces the fact that I've become a lovesick shell of myself, but it can't pretend that it's not nice to have a reminder of you when I'm on the job.

And, in a way, it's my patronus, and the full moon, and the conversation, that are making this night harder than it should be.

You told me you wanted me to forget about you. To let you go. Still, I promised myself that I would never give up…and I haven't. Not really.

As I said, this is just a…_ howl_. I'm sure I heard a howl. Instinctively I crane my neck to see further out the window.

'Tonks? Are you…all right?'

It takes me a moment to register that Dawlish has been talking for the last few minutes.

'I thought I heard something, out there. Sorry.'

'What'd you hear?'

He looks slightly concerned.

'Oh, Nothing…its-its gone now. What were you saying?'

'I asked if you wanted another round.'

'What time is it?'

This is always a good question to ask when I find myself in a situation that I want to get out of quickly. No matter what time it is, I can always pretend to be horrified that I've stayed out so late and hurriedly explain that I have to get an early start tomorrow morning.

'It's nearly 10:00.'

'Really? I hadn't realized how late it was!'

'The time did seem to go by quickly didn't it?'

He sounds very genuine when he says this. I feel the guilty knot tighten in my stomach once again.

'Yeah. Anyway, I should get back to my flat. I've got to get an early start tomorrow.'

'I'll walk you.'

'You don't have to. Really, I'll be fine on my own.'

'No, I insist.'

'Well, all right then.'

He insists on paying for drinks too, even though I offered, more than once to split the check with him. My mother always told me never to let a man, whom you have no interest in, pay for dinner. (Or anything else for that matter.) But, Dawlish was so insistent in this, I gave in.

Lately I've found that my battle of wills with you has diminished my strength in other matters.

Not in my dealings with the Dementors, or my duties protecting the school. In fact I've been told by my superiors that my work in these areas has improved. No, the problem lies in my stubbornness.

Before this entire mess with you, everyone knew that I was extremely stubborn. No matter what the problem I would never back down until I got my way. Now, because I am trying so hard to match _your_ stubbornness, I find I haven't the courage to defy anyone else. No matter who they are.

I wonder if you would be happy to know that you've diminished me in more ways than one. Are you pleased now to see what you've reduced me to?

I know in my heart of hearts that you don't truly want to see me in pain. My heart knows that you want what is best for me, that you care for me. My heart of hearts knows that you love me as much as I love you. But my mind finds comfort in blaming you

We've left the three broomsticks now, and we're walking down the cobble stoned streets of Hogsmead in silence. I hate silence, especially when it's awkward.

Dawlish is fidgeting with the ends of his scarf. He keeps glancing sideways at me as if I'm a time bomb about to go off at any moment. I don't know why.

'A bit chilly tonight isn't it?' I say because I can't think of anything else.

'Yeah, it is a bit. Would you like my coat?'

'No thank you. I like the cold.'

He takes his cloak off anyway and begins putting it around my shoulders.

'Here take it.'

I give him a half smile, but say nothing more. This entire conversation reminds me of another chilly walk a little less than a year ago. I wonder if you remember it.

It was in January I think…yes, January. I remember because we'd just seen the kids off at Hogwarts. It was you who suggested we make a stop at the three broomsticks before heading back to headquarters. You wouldn't say it, but I think you wanted to be away from that gloomy house for as long as you possibly could.

So, we sent word to number 12 that Harry and the others had made it safely back to school and headed down the hill towards Hogsmead.

'A bit nippy today isn't it?' I'd said happily.

'Nippy Tonks? It's freezing! And you should be wearing more than that out here.'

You nodded to my fairly worn tweed jacket as if you had room to talk. You're patched over coat barely covered your robes properly.

'Yes Father.' I said sarcastically. You rolled your eyes.

'Just making an observation.'

'I happen to like the cold actually.'

'It does bring out the pink in your cheeks.'

'Oh, does it? Should I change my hair to match then?'

Without waiting for a reply I scrunched my face in that oh-so-familiar way, and in seconds my hair had changed from sharp iron curls to short pink spikes. Like wise I changed my facial structure from the lines and wrinkles of a frumpy middle aged woman to that of a sprightly twenty-two year old girl. (All right, so I'm not _really_ twenty two, I de-aged myself a bit. I told you I get very self conscious when you're around).

Ironically, it was at precisely that moment that a group of straight laced looking older women began moving passed. I remember one of them whispering to her friends before the entire group edged away from us to the other side of the street.

Long before they were out of earshot, you burst out laughing.

'Nymphadora Tonks, you are the only person I know who can frighten passers by with a simple wriggle of her nose.'

'I like my spikes! And _don't_- call -me-Nym-pha-dora' I accented each syllable with a well deserved elbow to your stomach. When I had finished my assault however, you were laughing harder than ever.

'I never said _I _didn't like your spikes. And, I still can't understand why a woman, who chooses to color her hair pink on a regular basis, would want to be known by her surname only.'

'Have you ever tried living through adolescence with a name that's too long and makes you sound like a pixie who's had "one too many"?'

'Now that I think about it, I can't say that I have…Nymphadora…'

'Tonks!' I said as I elbowed you once more.

'Forgive me, _Tonks_.'

'…Tonks? Tonks!'

Apparently, while my mind has been going through flashback mode, Dawlish has been trying to get my attention. I shake my self back to reality and turn to look at him

'Tonks, are you _sure _you're okay?' He asks for the umpteenth time.

'I'm fine, Daniel.'

Silence

'Tonks?'

'Yes?'

'What are you thinking about?

'At the moment? I'm thinking that taking a hot shower and jumping under the covers seems like a nice idea about now.' I lie. 'It's been a long day.'

'No, I mean…well…I just mean you've been a bit…distant…lately,' He stutters.

'Oh, yeah, sorry about that. It's just…'

'It seems like you're taking everything pretty hard.'

I know that by 'everything' he means Sirius. Most of the aurors know that he was my cousin; most of them also know that I fought in the battle at the department of mysteries. With that information, it's no wonder that most of them assume that we were close.

'Yeah, it's been hard,' I answer. I've been using Sirius quite a bit lately as an excuse for my behavior.

'I want you to know, if you ever need anything…'

'Thanks'

Another longer silence passes in which I look up at the full moon, though I try not to think about it. I decide to focus my attention on something else. The stars perhaps?

Yes. You showed me how to find Polaris once.

'What are you looking at now?' Dawlish asks.

'I'm trying to find the North Star.'

Obviously, I don't mention you. You don't need to be mentioned.

'I've never been much of a star gazer myself,' Dawlish says, though he's looking up at the sky now, as if determined to help me in my quest.

A few more moments go by without success on either of our parts. The silence isn't helping my guilt, and the evening hasn't helped my more-than –somewhat- depressed state, as I'd hoped it would.

Eventually, I move my eyes down from the sky in defeat.

'Oh well, I'll find it later.'

'Yes. I hope so.'

We walk a few more steps.

'This is your building isn't it?'

'Yeah, it is. Didn't take long did it?' I ask for lack of anything better to say.

'No. The time passed very quickly.'

He sounds so genuine. Another guilty knot forms in my stomach.

'Well then, I'd bettered get to bed then.'

I ready myself to unlock the door while I wait for him to say something like "Oh, right. Good night then." But he doesn't. He's looking at me very strangely, and now I think I know what he wants.

Why didn't I think about this before?

'Tonks…could I…'

He makes a motion to come closer, but doesn't follow through. What am I going to do?

'Could you what, Daniel?'

Whatever he asks, I can't just say yes. Not with you in my head. While I wait for him to answer I think again of my patronus. I think about how you're protecting me, even if you don't know it. I wish you could protect me now. What would you do?

'May I kiss you?'

There it is. Suddenly, I know exactly what to say.

'Look,' I begin. He flinches a bit. Perhaps I was too forceful. I press on anyway.

'I like you Daniel, really. But, with the war and everything else…I'm just not ready for a romantic relationship right now.'

'Oh, I understand.'

He sounds dejected, but the guilty knot in my stomach has begun to loosen.

'I'm really sorry.' I feel compelled to say again.

'No, it's all right. Maybe I could…stick around, you know. Until you are ready?'

'I'd like that.'

Poor thing. He doesn't realize that as long as you're still here, in my life, in my mind, in my memory, I can't possibly move on. Dawlish is going to have a long wait.

'Well, good night then. See you tomorrow.'

'Yeah, see you then.'

I know his eyes are still on me as I unlock the cottage door. Oddly it doesn't make me feel guilty at all. I did what needed to be done. I suppose, in a way, I did what you would have done.

When walk inside, I immediately go to the window. I can see Dawlish beginning to make his way back to his own cottage near the north gate of the town. My eyes follow him for a moment before moving back to the full moon.

As hokey as it sounds, I blow a kiss and hope that it finds you, wherever you are tonight.

'Good night, Remus.'


	7. Cottage Number 17, Hogsmead

**Chapter Seven: Cottage Number 17, Hogsmead**

I don't know why I'm here. I shouldn't be.

After all, it is your own affair as to how you celebrate the holiday. In fact, I can understand why one might want to spend Christmas day in a quiet cottage, far removed from the bustle and noise that the Burrow provides. I suppose this is simply one more reason to envy you.

But the desire for a quiet holiday is usually mine, not yours. Spending Christmas alone isn't like you. Then again, nothing is like you anymore. You are no longer the bright little Nymph that you once were. I feel more than a bit responsible for that.

Perhaps that is why I am here. I feel guilty for causing this…depression, I suppose you would call it.

I know I should simply accept that you are better off without my interference, that, in time you life will continue just as it did before this began. Whatever this is…

Perhaps I want you to know that this is not what I want for you. I want to show you how much it kills me to see you like this. I want to show you that I hate what you have become and that I blame myself, the logical, human side of my mind, more than I blame the wolf.

I know it will not do to argue with you yet again. I know that repeating words that neither of us truly want to hear will cause an even greater rift. I know that both of us have more than enough scars already. I know this, yet I let my desire to see you continually create more.

I suppose that is the real reason that I am standing here, hesitating beside your front door. I want to see you.

No matter what I know, no matter how I rationalize my feelings, I continue to have a basic desire…no, need to be near to you. It is dangerous and stupid, I know. And some part of my despised rational mind is telling me that perhaps this time, I can reason with you. Perhaps this time, you will see how much easier it would be for you to simply forget about the love of a worthless old werewolf. Maybe I could persuade you to try for something better.

I know it will not work. I know that your stubborn resolve will butt heads with mine once again and we will each find ourselves at an impasse.

All the same, I feel my hand moving of its own accord to knock at your front door. I don't know whether to hope that Molly was mistaken and you are out for the Christmas holiday, or to pray fervently that…

_Footstep. _It is no longer a question of whether or not you are there. I can here you walk towards the door slowly and stop hesitantly at the thresh hold.

'Tonks?' I here myself call, though I am not all together aware of opening my mouth.

'Tonks, its Remus.'

I can here you hesitate.

'Please Tonks, open the door.'

Slowly, I see the knob turn and the door creaks open. You are standing in the door way starring at me with your arms folded and your wand held out across your right shoulder. You look much worse than I could have expected. Your brown hair is matted and un- brushed; hanging in tangles around your shoulders. The circles under your eyes have become considerably darker since I last saw you. You are still dressed in your pajamas with your bathrobe thrown hastily over top of them.

I try to shove away the feeling that sits between shocking pain and guilt at the sight of you. It doesn't leave. Apparently my feelings are just as stubborn as your mousy appearance.

'I really shouldn't be so trusting.' You say blankly. 'The ministry would have my hide if they knew I'd opened my door just like that. For all I know you could be a death eater come to do me in.'

I'm surprised when I feel my face twist up into a smile.

'Well, if it makes you feel better, last year you gave me the first weird Sister's album with a card which read: _So you can finally bring your musical taste back to life.'_

For a moment I'm sure I see a familiar twinkle in your eye which tells me that I might have brought you back. For a moment it feels like nothing has changed between us and you will give me a sly come back and your familiar laugh.

But in a flash that moment is gone. You shrug unsmiling and indicate that I should follow you into the kitchen.

I walk further into the cottage. Except for a crackling fire in the small hearth, there appears to be almost no color in the room. All the bits of furniture are basic and brown. The small rocking chair by the fire, the futon laid out next to the wireless, the small wood table; I suppose they are Ministry designated, but somehow they are oddly fitting.

The room it's self is in a state of dis-array. Trash bins are overflowing with old bits of tissue and whiskey bottles litter the room half-drunk and abandoned. Plates and dishes have piled on top of one another in the small sink.

I know you have never been orderly. But this is a bit much, even for you.

'Tea?'

You are bustling in your cupboards.

'No thank you.'

I don't need a reason to stay too long. I don't need a reason to tempt myself.

You pour water into your kettle all the same and grab two tea bags from a tin by the stove and two mugs sitting on the counter. You turn to me and silently indicate that I should sit.

I don't know why, but I immediately obey. Perhaps it is part of the charm you hold over me; there are some things I will never be able to fight against, no matter how I try.

We are both silent for the most part as you go about making the tea. You even curse more softly than you used to when you nearly break one of the mugs while pouring tea into it.

Finally you bring the two tea mugs over to the table and set a solid green one with a chip on the edge down, rather forcefully, in front of me. You take the white cup and sit in the chair next to mine.

I'm not sure where to begin, so I decide to start with the obvious question.

'So, how are yo-'

'Remus, what are you doing here?'

You interrupt me, as if just noticing my presence.

'I…_we_ were worried about you. You were missed today you know?'

'Was I?'

'Of course. Molly was asking after you.'

'So that's why you came? Because Molly told you to check up on me?'

Before I can form an answer that will not incriminate me further, you put in another defense

'I've told you before. I'm not a child, I can look after myself.'

'Yes, I can see that,' I say with a somewhat facetious air glancing around the cottage filled with abandoned whiskey bottles.

'I didn't think you would care all that much.'

'I do care Tonks, you know that.'

'You have an awfully strange way of showing it then.'

'Molly didn't ask me to come.'

The words rush out of my mouth before I realize that I have said them. You are silent for a moment.

'What do you want then?'

'I wanted to make sure that you were all right.'

'I'm fine thank you.'

I begin to protest, but realize quickly that it will get me nowhere. I decide to switch tactics.

'Harry told me about your patronus.'

'Did he?'

'You should have told me it had changed.'

'I didn't think it would make much difference.'

I'm not sure what to say to this. I'm not certain what Harry made of the situation, or that Harry even suspects anything is truly wrong. Still, I need to know the truth.

'Do you know what caused it?'

You turn away from me and shake your head. You're lying, I can tell.

'Was it Sirius?'

I have to ask. Though I think I know the answer even before you give it. Sure enough you shake your head no, visibly trying to hold back the tears that are beginning to fill your eyes. Eventually you loose the battle and I watch horrified as one tear falls freely down your cheek. I turn away.

I have more self control now than I have in the dreams. I will not reach out to touch you no matter how desperately I want to.

I try to keep up conversation so that I will not fall.

'Then it's…'

'You! For God sake Remus! I thought that even you, as bloody stupid as you can be, would have worked that out by now!'

I'm not sure how to respond to this outburst. So I sip my tea. When I look up your face is red and more tears are falling than I ever would have allowed in the dreams. I try to keep my eyes averted from yours when I speak next.

'I know…I know this must be hard for you. But if you would only accept that…'

'Accept what Remus? I can accept that your being a stubborn ass about this entire thing! I can accept that you won't even consider that someone could possibly love you without having to logic your way out of it! I can accept the fact that you're running away from the thought that you might actually feel something for me!'

'I'm not running away from anything. I'm being realistic. Even if something did begin, what would come of it? I could never support you.'

'Don't be ridiculous. I make plenty for the both of us.'

I shudder at the thought of accepting charity. Even if it is from you.

'It wouldn't be fair to you Tonks. I have_ nothing_. No home, no money, no job, no rights…'

'Remus stop it! Do you honestly think I would be shallow enough to care about any of that? We would manage!'

'I would never want you to just manage. You deserve to be happy. You deserve…'

'It's not all about me! Are you really so blind that you can't see what this is doing? To both of us? I know the real reason you went back to Greyback.'

I consider closing my eyes. Suddenly I don't want you knowing more than you should.

'No Tonks, you don't.'

'Then why did you leave?'

'I told you. Dumbledore needed me. For the Order.'

You shake your head sadly, tears drying on your cheeks.

'You left because you were afraid.'

I'm not certain how to tell her that she is, at least in part, right. I say nothing.

'And don't think I don't know what it's doing to you! Don't think I don't notice the grey hair, or the tattered clothes, the scars…some of them are still fresh. I've seen them Remus!'

I self consciously pull the sleeve of my robe down to cover the new scaring on my fore arm.

'It's no worse than it is every other month,' I lie. This is worse, this is so much worse.

'Every other month you can't help it. It's not something you can control. But this…this is worse. You know it is!' You accuse fairly.

'And it's all happening because you're too…'

You abruptly break into tears once again. I have never seen you cry as often as you have tonight. Even when Sirius died, it somehow didn't seem as painful as this. Perhaps it was because then I was able to comfort you, to put my arms around you, to soothe you. I had not yet learned to censor myself.

Since I now know the extent of my feelings; what my actions could lead to; there is nothing left for me to do. I stand from the table, and take up the cloak that I have placed on the back of the chair.

Before I can make my retreat, you lean forward and grab my hand.

'Don't. Please, please, Remus don't go!'

I struggle to pull my hand from your grip, still avoiding your gaze. You hold on still more tightly, you've brought the palm of my hand forward to your lips. You press a desperate kiss to my hand and I feel a sense of urgency at the contact.

'Tonks…' I mean to sound accusatory, but I am ashamed to hear my voice create a lustful sigh.

Sensing my weakness, you continue your attack; kissing my fingers one by one. I close my eyes indulging in a moment. Just one I tell myself and no more.

The moment passes and I remember myself. Keeping my eyes lowered from your own. I pry my hand away from your soft lips and pretend that I will not miss the contact.

Quickly I make my way to the front corridor. Not a second passes before I hear your footsteps follow me.

'Wait!'

I steel myself. I will not turn around, no matter how prettily you beg.

'Remus.'

I will keep walking no matter how you try to persuade me. I will…

'Remus, look at me.'

I stop. The command is gentle. An echo of the dreams.

You use my immobility to your advantage. I feel your hand come up to the side of my face, leading it so that I am starring straight into your eyes. You are no longer crying. Instead your face seems set in a firm resolve.

Fear shoots through me.

Before I have the chance to find my bearings, your lips seem to have pushed their way forward to meet with mine. Suddenly I can not think. It seems that there is no logic anymore. There is no fear, no war, no disease, there is only the feeling of your lips moving softly against me.

There is the feel of soft life as my hand, of its own accord, find's it's way to your hair and begins stoking with abandon.

I am encouraging this. I mustn't. I will stop…in a moment. Yes, I can afford to allow myself one more moment of happily ever after; of what could have been if only…

The moment passes. I use my free hand to, softly, push you away. Your eyes look even more confused and betrayed now than they did on the night when you confessed. I can see water threatening to pour down once more.

I have a rush of self hatred. I push it aside as best I can and turn towards the door. I know that this time you will not stop me.


	8. The Road to Hogwarts

**AN:** Yes, yes, I know it's been a while, but I'm working on it I sware! Anyway, here's chapter eight and I hope you will continue to enjoy!

**Chapter Eight: The Road to Hogwarts**

I only found out this morning. I'm sure I looked suspicious to the others, not showing up to work, but I really couldn't care less.

I would be a mess on the job today, and no one who's seen me recently would be-grudge me one sick day. I haven't taken any at all since I started assignment here. I didn't have much else besides you to occupy my thoughts, so I used work as an excuse. The attacks have become more frequent, I'm fighting Dementors nearly every week now. And when I'm not, I'm busy chasing down leads that seem to well…lead nowhere.

I don't know how or why, but somehow, this gives me a small amount of satisfaction.

After all, if you can play the self-sacrificing noble hero bit then why can't I?

But I can't do it today. Not since I heard the news, since Molly flooded over to me in tears, saying that Arthur had left for work early. Apparently the ministry was in an up roar because of a Werewolf attack near the feral caves…Near Greyback's feral caves, near you.

Of course she also said that no one knew anything yet, but the Ministry officials kept saying something about a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She said, through sobs, that she 'Thought I ought to know'.

As soon as she left, I flood over to Savage's fireplace, told him I was sick, and that I would be taking the day off.

The problem was, after that, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I couldn't stand staying in the cottage, working myself into a greater state of worry. I had to do something, anything. Perhaps I should have gone to work.

Molly offered to floo over to my cottage to spend the day, but I told her not to bother herself. Besides, Arthur might contact her with more information and I want her to be there to receive it.

After all, who would be in a better position to know about these sorts of things than Arthur? That's when it hit me.

Dumbledore would certainly know if someone in the order had been attacked. And I have no doubt that if something did happen Dumbledore would be the first person you would think to contact. So, as quickly as I could, I grabbed my cloak, threw on a scarf and headed off on the relatively short road to Hogwarts.

Though it doesn't seem all that short now. Every step I take seems to bring me further away from the castle, further away from the truth, further away from you. I've never been much for thinking as I walk, but I'm thinking now. I don't know how or why but my mind is suddenly filled with memories of you.

The night I was initiated into the order, the night I met you. It was May, or maybe June a little over a year ago. You smiled at me and I remember thinking I liked the way your eyes crinkled at the corners. That was the first night you called me Nymphadora.

'Actually it's just Tonks' I said.

'Oh, I'm sorry Miss Tonks."

'No, really…_just _Tonks.'

'Are you sure?'

I felt as though I should be annoyed with you, but you were still smiling, and I wanted you to keep smiling for as long as possible.

'I've been sure since I was six years old. Why?'

'Oh, nothing really. It's just…I don't think I've ever met anyone who actually _preferred_ to be called by their surname.'

'Well, I guess that makes me a pioneer then.'

'Yes I suppose it does.'

After that exchange, I couldn't help thinking that, someday; I would like to marry a man who had your smile.

It wasn't until around the third time you said my name that I started actually liking the sound you made when you said it. And on the fourth or fifth I started loving it; though I would never admit that, especially not to you.

I could tell that you liked teasing me too much to stop.

'Will you always do that?' I remember asking just after we picked Harry up from his Aunt and Uncles home in August, just before that ministry hearing.

Once again you had introduced me by my first name with a little too much affection in your voice to be entirely serious.

'Do what?' You asked me. You were trying to sound innocent but I could see your lips fighting a battle not to twist upward into a triumphant smirk.

'Embarrass me by using my first name in front of strangers.'

'In my defense I did tell him what you preferred to be called."

'Only after I reminded you.'

I waited for you to make an excuse for yourself, but you seemed to be putting too much energy in trying not to smile. After a few moments, you said simply:

'Don't worry Tonks. Chances are that, given time, Harry will forget that you even _have_ a first name. As for embarrassing you…well, let's just say you didn't need any help on that front.'

'Anyone would have tripped over those dishes, I just…happened to come in contact with them first.'

You stopped pretending not to be amused and let out a chuckle.

'Well, come to think of it I have broken my share of china. But, if it's simply a case of circumstance then, I don't think I have ever met a person with worse luck than you. _Nymphadora.'_

I stuck my tongue out at you and was rewarded with another one of your smiles.

That, I suppose, was when I really started thinking that, my life would not be nearly as fulfilling without you in it.

Then there was the night before Harry's ministry hearing. That night, I had been on guard duty until three o'clock in the morning. I could have gone to my flat to sleep, but it was much too far away. Besides I needed to make my report at Grimmuald place by 5 o'clock at the latest.

So, when Kingsley relieved me, I apparated to Grimmuald place, intending to get myself some coffee, but then the couch looked so inviting, and I was so tired, surely there would be no harm in simply…resting my eyes?

So, without hesitation I lay down on the couch. I closed my eyes.

It seemed like only moments before I woke up to the sound of soft footfalls. I ventured a guess, or perhaps a hope, as to who had made them.

'Remus?'

'Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.'

'It's all right. Did I fall asleep here?'

'I think so. Yes.'

'I didn't even think...'

'Don't worry about it now. Your tired, go back to sleep.'

I turned over on the couch.

'Those night watches are going to be the death of me, I swear it. Good night Remus.'

I tried to close my eyes again; I tried to go to sleep. But just as I was beginning to nod off, I felt you lift the quilt from the side of the couch and move it over to cover me. I felt your hands gently graze my shoulder as you tucked me in, and something very strange happened inside my stomach.

I tried to ignore it, I tried to go back to sleep like you told me to. That's when I heard you say it.

'Good Night, Nymphadora'

That was when I knew that there was something different about the way you said my name. That was when I heard something strange happen in your voice as it fell melodically over each syllable. That was when I knew I loved you.

I didn't fall asleep that night, and I didn't hear you leave the living room. So, I pretended that I was asleep and imagined you sitting in the worn chair right across from the couch keeping watch over me.

It wasn't until months later that I began to notice things that happened on your end. Things that you said to me, and things that you did with me that you never said or did with the others.

They were small things, like the way your arm fell to my waist when I wobbled on a rug or peace of pavement and you righted me. Or the way you would tease me about my name, or my two left feet, or my penchant for sticking my foot in my mouth, because you knew you could get away with it. The way you spoke to me when we were alone together.

I remember countless evenings in the parlor, with just the two of us when you would tell me fascinating stories about all the places you traveled when you were young and your parents were looking anywhere and everywhere to find a cure for you.

You told me about two ghosts you met at an apothecary in Paris, France. About a dark wizarding shope in Romania that was run by a man you now believe to be a vampire. You spoke of being taken by magic carpet to hospitals in Asia, and by Muggle boat to experimental lycanthropy facilities in America.

I had never heard you tell these stories to anyone else. I assumed people like Dumbledore and Sirius knew, but I never heard you speak about it to them before. The fact that you talked about them to me, made me think…

Of course I could never be entirely sure about how you felt until the St. Mungos incident. When you said my name in the same way you had said it that night in August, and I made my drowsy, half drugged, semi-confession.

You don't know it, but I saw you shift when I told you how much I 'didn't mind' you saying my name. I saw the way your eyes changed. My suspicions were confirmed that night I made my confession. That was when I knew that you were afraid of me. That was when I knew you loved me.

I can't say that I didn't suspect what you would do after I told you, even though I did not want those suspicions to be right.

Now I am more than sorry that they were.

The gates of Hogwarts are in sight now. I'll have to send my patronus through to the castle, Dumbledore should at least know that I'm coming.

As I whip out my wand, I can vaguely the outline of Dawlish standing guard at the west end gate.

I silently thank God that I'll be dealing with him instead of Savage, who would no doubt hound me with questions.

I'm drawing closer I can see Dawlish stop pacing back and forth and peer at me through the bars.

'Tonks?' He asks incredulously

'Wotcher Daniel.'

'What are you doing here? Savage said you were sick.'

'Yeah, I know that but…I've got to see Dumbledore about something.'

'Why? What happened?'

I'm not sure what to say to that. He doesn't know about you. He shouldn't. Besides that, I don't know what's happened, and I won't until I get through those gates and talk to Dumbledore.

'Tonks, are you all right?'

Dawlish is waving a hand in front of my face, looking extremely concerned. I suddenly realize that tears of frustration have begun to move down my cheeks.

'I'm fine. I just…please Daniel, let me through. I have to see Dumbledore, it's…it's Order business.'

I feel fine about saying that. At least I'm not lying to him, and I didn't even have to mention you.

'Allright…' he looks at me with an odd expression and then points his wand at the gate which unlocks automatically, he swings the bars open and steps aside.

'…Though he might not even be there today. He's been gone quite a bit lately.'

I hadn't thought of that. But…he'll be there. He has to be.

'I'll take my chances.'

I take off down the beaten path, Dawlish rushes to catch up.

'It would probably be best if I see you to the castle doors. Mr. Filch knows me by now.'

I purse my lips together, but manage a tight nod. I really wanted to make the rest of the journey alone.

'So, what's so urgent?'

'I told you it's…order business.'

I'm trying to keep a frustrated edge out of my voice, I don't know if it works.

'Nothing else?'

I think of saying "no" and trying to leave it at that. But if I know Dawlish, he'll just keep pestering me about it, so I decide to give him the truth. Not the whole truth mind, just a bit.

'I heard a…er…rumor. About someone getting hurt.'

'Someone you know?'

'Yes. A…friend.'

'Does this…friend…have a name?'

All right, now he's prying.

'I told you, it's Order business. He's undercover.'

'He?'

'Yes. _He_'

I don't even try to keep the disdain out of my voice this time.

'All right! I was just asking…'

Daniel looks very sullen as we walk the rest of the way, and he knocks on the door a little too forcefully.

The door swings open.

'What is it now Dawlish?' Filch stands at the door holding a bucket filled to the brim with soapy water and looking quite put out to say the least. And that cat, Mrs. Norris is there, weaving her way in between Filch's legs and starring at me with those lamp like eyes.

I still swear that cat is evil.

'Tonks here says she's got an appointment to see someone in the castle.'

He all but shoves me forward still frowning. I look back at him and try to give him my best glare, but I'm not certain it works.

'Allright then, make it quick… and wipe those boots off before you set one foot in here! God knows I've got enough on my plate without these Auror's barging in at all hours…more trouble than their worth really…'

Filch goes off down the corridor muttering to himself, and Mrs. Norris continues to stare at me as though waiting for me to do something reprehensible.

I wipe my boots on the door step half heartedly. As soon as I'm done I turn to thank Dawlish for letting me in, but he's all ready headed down the path to the west gate, with out affording me so much as a backward glance.

I rush into the castle and up the stair well that leads to the headmaster's office. Fear begins to creep in over me. What if Dumbledore isn't there? Will anyone be able to tell me where he's gone? Will anyone else know anything about what's happened, that is if anything's happened at all?

Suddenly, the feeling of fear is replaced by memory. All the memories of you that came to me on the short road to the gates of Hogwarts flood back to the forfront of my mind and create a wistful longing that will not pass. Your smile, your eyes, your voice, your words, are haunting me more than the halls of the ancient castle I walk through.

Suddenly, Ifeel as though I'm stuck in a time and place that is not my own, as if time it's self has been suspended.

Suddenly, even as I reach the Gargoyle that leads to Dumbledore's office, I feel as though no answers could comfort me, no news could possibly reawaken this spirit of restlessness.

Suddenly, I know that I will only truly rejoin the land of the living, when you come back to me…


	9. An Alley Near Grimmauld Place

**AN**: I know, I know it's been two months since my last update. But I have an excuse. I am in college. It's summer now, so I will have more time to write. The next update will be sooner. I promise!

**Chapter Nine: An alley near Grimmuald Place**

I am cold. It is raining and I am freezing and I'm not quite certain how I ended up here. Everything after last night is a blur.

I open my eyes and attempt to shake the sound residing in my ears. It is rain. I suddenly realize how very wet it is. That it is cold, and that it is late, possibly near to sunset. My clothes are heavy and damp as I lie in the alley with no thought of rising from the gravel beneath me.

I remember now. Though everything still comes to me in staccato breaths and fragmented images, I remember the full moon sunset that led me to this alley.

The rain pounds on the burning flesh that stings on my arms where he cut me, my legs still swell with a private ache where I was humiliated for not complying. I should have complied.

I should not have spoken against the father of my pack. I should have accepted the sacrifice I would have to make, for the Order, for the greater good, for you…

I was selfish. I thought of what you would say; how you would cringe if you ever learned that I had taken part in the ritual slaughter of a small boy simply to keep my cover. I thought of the night I was bitten. Images flooded back to me from so many years ago. I remembered looking into Greyback's eyes and seeing nothing but ferocious, violent blood lust. Nothing human.

I did not want to imagine myself in that same position now, over thirty years later. I had worked so hard to maintain my humanity. To keep the feral instincts at bay. There were always those instincts, the one's that would not leave me be. They are why I have kept my distance and why I could not, would not, stay silent last night.

That is why I had to be taught, I tried to fight, and I could not match his strength. Greyback subdued me easily, on his orders the entire camp closed in on me. I was to be punished, the rest of them were to watch. I remember their eyes on me as he cut me and dripped my blood. I remember the smiles and frowns, the tears, and the laughter of various different faces as the ritualistic punishment lesson took place.

After it was done, they left, all of them. They left me bloodied and nearly unconscious, on the verge of death. I suppose some would call it a miracle that I lived through the transformation.

Some might say I was lucky. I am sure you will be relieved; it will do no good telling you that you should not be.

I do not know what the rest of them did as I transformed; I am not sure that I want to know. I know too much already.

Silent. Everything around me is so silent now, except for the soft sound of the rain that falls on the metal trash cans in a steady, haunting rhythm.

I can not help but search my surroundings for something, anything that might lend its self to other noise. Noise that is not so desperately unified; a noise that claims difference.

That is when I remember why I am here. I remember noise. Only one noise. The crack of aparation. The noise that I made which somehow went unnoticed by the other ferals in the camp.

I remember thinking of the one place that I might find rest. The one place I might find home.

I recognize this alley way now. I know where I am. This is the apparition spot for most Order members destined for Number 12 Grimmauld place.

I remember very vividly coming to and going from the house on this exact spot.

Unbidden a memory enters my tired mind. A memory of you suddenly flashes before me in vivid color.

It was April. Two days after a particularly nasty full moon. Dumbledore had requested that I go on to Hogsmede in order to scout out the feral camps. Of course you didn't know that then. No one did.

You had insisted on seeing me out of the house. Molly, who had stopped by after the full moon, supported you one hundred percent on this offer. Besides the soup that she had stored up in small thermal containers was too much for one person to possibly carry on their own.

Still, I made my objection to this arrangement known.

'Really Tonks, this isn't necessary.'

'Of course it is Remus! You still look terribly pale. The apparition is going to be draining enough without you having to make the walk on your own. Besides, aren't I better than a cane?'

I couldn't help but smile all too affectionately even then. If only you knew.

'Well, I will give you that.'

I realized even then that revealing something so small was far too dangerous than I ought to have allowed, still, I could not attempt to pretend that it was not comforting to have my arm draped around you while your small lithe body supported my weight.

In what seemed like no time at all, we reached the apparition point. You moved my arm from your shoulder and carefully slid out from underneath me. I told myself that it was foolish to miss your warmth.

'Here we are then.'

My legs were still quite shaky and the wound in my right leg twinged, but I had convinced myself that I would be perfectly fine for the apparition.

I watched as you searched through the gunny sack you had brought. Finally, you produced a tall thermos and handed it to me.

'Molly put your after potion in this. And remember you're to take it-'

'-Twice everyday, once in the morning and once at night. I know.'

You gave me a playful glare in meager retribution for my interruption, and then produced another thermos from your sack.

'And Molly's sent this along as well. Her famous chicken noodle soup. She's laced it with pepper up potion; only don't tell her I told you that. She thinks she was being quite sneaky about it.'

I reached out for the thermos brushing my hand ever so slightly against yours. I suppose I should have seen it then. The way your cheeks turned adorably pink at the touch. The way you smiled and looked away.

A moment passed before you spoke again.

'All set then?'

'I should think so. That is unless Molly sent me along a pair of rather embarrassing pink fuzzy ear muffs in case Dumbledore should send me someplace cold. Or perhaps mittens and a scarf?'

You smiled and rolled your eyes.

'Go on. Play nice with the other kids.'

'Of course, mummy.'

Before you could slap my shoulder in response I turned and disapparated. I remember that memory staying with me through that entire week. It was the only warmth I had on that mission, the only warmth I have now.

I'm not sure what you would say if you knew this mission has been in the works for over a year. That I knew long before you made your confession what Dumbledore would ask of me. I knew what it would entail.

I wonder if you knew would you have walked with me? Would you have made sure I reached the alley? I wonder if you would have been waiting for me by the window of the sitting room at number 12 when I returned.

Slowly I rise to my feet and turn the street corner where I will think once more.

_Number 12 Grimmuald Place_

It is not long before the place it's self appears.

I force my aching legs to take the steps leading up to the house front. I begin to ring the door bell. Then other memories commit themselves to me: Sirius (_I keep telling them not to use the bloody door bell), _the portrait of Mrs. Black (HALF BLOODS! TRAITORS! VERMIN! HOW DARE YOU ENTER THIS NOBEL AND ANCIENT HOUSE!), Molly Weasley (_Why must all of them wake up at once?)_.

In light of all these, I decide instead to knock.

I do once, no answer.

I did not consider the possibility of no one being in the house. I suppose that the selfish portion of my mind envisioned a mass of worried Order members pacing around the kitchen and parlor of Number 12, jumping at every sound, praying that I might come back unharmed.

My selfish mind somehow pictured you sitting in a chair by the fire, quietly sobbing, biting your finger nails, and being reassured by Molly of my doubtless return.

This fantasy rips at my heart and sooths it at the same time. It is dangerous.

Thinking such things allows me to believe that you still hold out hope. That you are stubborn and steadfast even after our last encounter. Even after I left you alone and confused with no word in over two months.

Now, standing at the door, I realize that surely you would have moved on by now. Surely you must hate me for what I have done to you. How can you ever wish to see me again, let alone spend an entire day of frantic worrying on my account?

It now occurs to me as I stand stupidly outside the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, in this bedraggled and woeful state, that the rest of you, the other Order members, are free to go about your own lives. You, all of you, must have much more pressing matters to attend to than the well being of one lone…

Suddenly the door flings open.

'Oh Remus!'

Molly Weasley has me in a firm embrace. She presses my arms and they ache.

'We were all so worried! What happened? Are you all right? What did they do?'

I try to open my mouth, I try to speak but no sound emerges. My throat feels as though it is on fire and my legs are ready to give way.

'Molly, put him by the fire, let him rest.'

Arthur is here. It seems as though they are the only two in the house. Perhaps it is not the entire Order, pacing, worrying, fretting, still, it is something.

'Oh, of course. Come with me dear, you look half frozen!'

Molly ushers me into the sitting room. She puts me in a chair. I hear someone gasp. I can't tell who it is. I can hope it is you...but I mustn't. Why, after what happened…after all this time, why should you care for what happens to me?

Molly waves her wand. Suddenly there is a fire, and I feel warmer than I have felt in months. I still ache.

'I'll get you a spot of tea. Tonks will be here if you need anything.'

You are here. I am too cold to feel much dread or guilt, or ecstasy. I settle for a small amount of contentment. You must not despise me, and that is also something.

I hear Molly's footsteps as she exits the room to the kitchen.

'Remus?'

Your voice is hesitant. I do not look up, but I can imagine the look of your sweet eyes, filled with tears. I can not bear the thought that I have caused more tears.

You sprint to my chair and throw your arms around my neck.

'Remus! I was so afraid.'

You are weeping into my tattered and dirt clad robes. I am appalled to think of your pale skin being sullied by the mix of blood and dirt. I try to pull away, but you are holding me fast.

'Oh, Remus. I was-I was so scared that...'

You don't finish the sentence. Silently I grieve for your lost innocence. I grieve for the tears that have fallen from their home in your eyes, and died on your skin. I do not see why you should take my grief and claim it as your own.

You do not need my grief, you do not deserve it. It is the burden of old men, not young, willful little nymphs. Why do you insist on bearing it with me? Can you not see that your stubbornness will soon drive both of us to madness?

'You're hurt.'

I feel you pull away before I open my eyes and shake my head. You should not attend to my needs, they are too numerous to attend to.

You give me the smallest half glance before taking out your wand.

'Don't move.'

For a moment I expect that you will punish me. That you will hurt me for leaving you, for breaking you, for coming back injured and expecting you to be there at the window waiting patiently.

But you are gentle as you take my arm in your hand. You move your wand up and down, and chant a healing spell. You take my other arm and repeat the process. My arms feel hot, then warm, then free. There is only the faint ghost of ache.

Your hand lingers on my wrist. You begin to move away. I pull forward and stop you. I shouldn't but I do.

I look at you. The rain pounds on the window sill, reminding me that my clothes are wet and ragged and I am cold. Reminding me that I should let you go. I don't.

I have a sudden urge to tell you all I feel. I want to thank you, I want to praise you, I want to cherish you, I want to beg your forgiveness. I want my voice to be as warm as your hands feel wrapped around my skin. I open my mouth to tell you all the things that princes say in fairy tales.

'So small...your hands.'

My voice comes out in a croak. I am too old for fairy tales.

All the same I kiss the palm of your hand, just as you did for me those many months ago. I suppose it is a sort of thank you.

I close my eyes and your hand is still there. I am warm now.


	10. Number 12 Grimmauld Place

**Chapter Ten**

The sun peeks through the boarded windows of the parlor room in Number 12 Grimmauld place. I can see the small beams dance across the floor as theymake their way to the sofa where my eyes flutter open and I think I amin one of my dreams.

Your arms are folded around me and it's the only thing that is currently keeping me from falling off of the sofa, where we're lying. Both of us. Now you can see why it feels like a dream.

Though we're not lying on the sofa like…_that_. (If that were the case Grimmuald place's spare bedroom would be much more comfortable). And of course you haven't exactly given up being stupidly stubborn. You've just…postponed it for a bit.

When you wake up it will be back to the usual: "I'm too old for you, I'm dangerous, I'll ruin your life"etc. The fact that I know all of your arguments by heart and haven't left yet, should give you some indication of who you're dealing with.

Though I suppose the fact that you haven't given in yet should tell me a thing or two about who _I'm_ dealing with: A good hearted, intelligent, gentleman with major self esteem issues and a bit of a nobility complex.

I wish I could see your face. I can't turn around to look at you, because I know that the moment I do you will wake up and the dream will end. I need it to go on a little longer.

I freeze as you take in a rather sharp breath, but in the end you simply pull me a bit closer to your chest where I can feel the steady breathing of a still deep sleep.

I suppose it's foolish of me to think that you would wake so soon after the night you've just been through. I'm surprised that I'm awake after the day I spent in a worried nail biting frenzy first at my cottage in Hogsmede, then in Hogwarts (in front of Harry Potter of all people. The kid must think I've gone completely mad). And then here at Grimmauld place because I had no where else to go.

Molly knew of course. She always knows. She floo called the fire at number twelve just five minutes after I apparated. She said she had a feeling I would come here first, then she insisted on coming through to wait with me. Arthur joined us once he got off work. I suppose that was around seven o'clock. A good half hour before you…

When you came into that parlor, with your face, arms, neck, scratched and your clothes torn, soaked to the bone, I have to admit I was horrified.

I was relieved of course. I had imagined…I thought he had killed you. I always knew, or thought I knew what Greyback was capable of.

Still, I don't think I had quite prepared myself for what horrible pain he could inflict. I know you didn't speak much about it, but I could see it in your eyes. This pain delved far beyond words. You carried the type of wound that could wretch the soul from a man's body.

I know now, what pain is. I wish I didn't.

I feel the rumbling of your chest as you groan once again. Your body is squirming against mine and you give a sigh.

'Nymph-dora,' I hear you mutter as your lips smack together, and I can tell that this time, your eyes will fly open and it will be the end.

Sure enough, not a moment passes before I hear you exclaim:

'Tonks!'

Your arms move from their place around my waist and I tumble from the edge of the sofa on to the floor.

In the old days you might have apologized and given me your hand in order to help me up. But now, you look at me as though my very presence had burned you.

'What are you doing here?'

'Molly and Arthur needed to go back to the Burrow. I…_we _didn't think you should be alone.'

'I'm fine.'

'Yeah I can see that.'

I wish I didn't sound so bitter, echoing the words you said to me at Christmas. I keep trying to tell myself that you don't mean it really, that you're just trying to protect me. That you have to put up this barrier between us because you think it will keep me safe.

You can't see that you need this; just as much as I need you.

'I've dealt with worse on my own before.'

'I know.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Because…'

I think of finishing the sentence with 'I wanted to take care of you', but it sounds a bit condescending. And saying 'because I love you', is right out. Even if it is true. I'd rather have an argument than force you to go back into your self deprecation mode. That's the only place talk of love seems to lead.

'Because… no one should have to be in this house alone. I know I wouldn't want to.'

To my surprise you give me a half smile.

'There is something foreboding about this place even after the work the order has done on it.'

'We were lucky that mad portrait didn't wake up. Then we really would have had our hands full.'

You smile out right now, and it's nice to be able to have something resembling a normal conversation with you again.

'Were you here all day yesterday?'

'Not all day. I was at Hogsmede in the morning. I didn't come here until around five o'clock.'

'After you'd finished your Auror duties?'

'Yes,' I lie.

Telling you that I took the day off work, that I only took the road to the castle in order to ask Dumbledore if you were all right, feels a bit too close to a love confession. And that won't do either of us any good at all.

'You would have heard any news at your flat in Hogsmede. You didn't have to come here. As you said, no one would want to be in this house if they didn't have to be.'

'I said no one would want to be _alone_ in this house. I wasn't. Molly and Arthur were here.'

'You didn't have to come at all.'

'Why are you harping on about this? Can't you accept the fact that there are people who_care_about you? People who want you to be safe?'

I'm the one who begins the argument as usual. Still, as I keep telling myself, it's your fault. Why do you have to question everything? Why can't you have simply said "thank you" like anyone else?

There is a silence. You give a wince of pain as you attempt to sit up on the sofa.

'I suppose I am not quite accustom to this sort of attention. I'm so used to dealing with these things on my own.'

You seem sad as you say this. I reach out my hand to touch your arm; to comfort you. You shirk away from me, giving me a brave sort of half smirk.

Eventually, you pull your aching limbs from the sofa cushions and delicately begin to fold the blanket. I reach up to the arm of the sofa and pull myself up from the floor.

'Molly said she would come back around noon to check on you,' I say because I can't think of anything else. 'She'll probably cook something for us then.'

I watch as you place the blanket over the back side of the sofa.

'You should have been gone by now. Won't they miss you in Hogsmede?'

'I called in sick.' I almost add "again" before I remember what I haven't told you. Instead I elaborate 'Sumpter's taking over my post.'

'You didn't have to do that.'

'Why not? I was here any way.'

You pause and then surprisingly let out a chuckle.

'We seem to be going around in circles don't we?'

'Don't blame me.' I'm only half joking.

'I don't.'

I watch as your knees seem to fold underneath you. You collapse in a sitting position on the sofa.

'Are you all right?' I ask with too much concern in my voice. I know you'll hear it. I want you to.

'Fine…I'm fine…' You attempt to wave me off as I walk over to the sofa. I put my stubbornness to good use and sit down next to you, placing my hand on your knee. You wince and jerk away.

'Your legs are still sore. You shouldn't get up for a while.'

'I have to. I need to see Dumbledore.'

'Can't it wait?'

'No. It's been two days since…Dumbledore needs to hear from me…what happened.'

You're ducking your head down and refusing to meet my eyes. As if you are ashamed. I don't know what to make of this. What did happen that night? I know you would not tell me. Even if I asked.

'Why can't you just send your patronus to him from here?'

'A patronus would not do my message justice. I need to speak with him in person.'

I should move away from you. I can hold a simple conversation while doing something productive like…I don't know…straightening up the parlor, can't I? No. Apparently I can't. I stay on the sofa, as do you.

'He might not be there. He wasn't at the castle when I…when I was patrolling yesterday.'

You look at me suspiciously for a moment. I don't know why I'm so afraid for you to guess the truth. You already know that you've affected me. What's one more piece of crumpled paper on a completely out of control blaze?

'Still, I have to take my chances.'

All the same, you stay seated on the couch and seem in no hurry to move again. I silently try to work out how best to ask my next question.

'Is…does he…know now?' I ask tentatively. Silence.

'I mean…does Greyback know that you're…one of us?'

'I'm not sure about that,' you answer evenly. 'But I do know that he won't be letting me back into the colony any time soon. Those scratches on my arm last night were eviction marks.'

'Oh. So that means you…won't be going back?' I try as hard as I can not to sound hopeful. Still I'm not sure I've done a grand job of it.

You stare at me for a moment then heave a sigh and run one hand through your matted hair.

'That's what I need to see Dumbledore about. I'm not sure whether or not he will need me back in the colony in light of…what's happened.'

'Dumbledore wouldn't send you back there. He couldn't! Not after...'

'Tonks, I am the only person with inside information on Greyback. If I'm no longer within his circle…'

'But you said that Greyback had evicted you!' I say this almost triumphantly. I've found a chink in your aged argument.

'Not entirely,' I feel my face fall and my stomach drop. It seems I began celebrating far too soon.

'Those marks were…a warning. If I return, the colony will shun me, I will live and sleep on the outskirts until…'

'Until what?'

'…Until I prove myself to them. To him.'

'What does that mean?'

You turn your head away from me. I know that I should not make you tell me. I know that I can guess the answer that you will give. But my old nature gets the better of me and I have to hear it from you.

'I will have to go on the hunt with the rest of the pack.' You say as evenly as you can. It's very difficult I can tell.

'I'll have to kill.'

Silence. I wasn't prepared for the words to be so haunting. You look back at me wearing an entirely humorless smile.

'Dumbledore wouldn't...' I hear myself choke as though I've forgotten how to breathe. 'He couldn't make you…'

'It's not about me Tonks, it's about what's best for the Order. If Dumbledore asks me…I have no choice.'

Your voice begins to break and you continue to avert your eyes. Still, something tells me you're bluffing. Perhaps not completelybut apart of you is trying to scare me. Trying to make me believe all the cock and bull about you being a 'dark creature'.

Well, I've got news for you Remus Lupin. I still won't bite.

Instead of saying this, I look at you in silence for a moment before throwing my arms around your neck. Just like I did last night.

'Tonks…Tonks, you shouldn't…' You try half heartedly to push me away. I hold on tighter and, just slightly, lean in to nuzzle your neck. This seems to break your resolve. _Ah, the power of being a woman, _I can't help but think as I hear you heave a sigh.

It's not long before you hesitantly move to put your arms around my shoulders. And not long after that, you pull me close to you entwining your fingers with my hair. I'm not sure how long we stay this way. I know we'll break apart eventually. We have to. But it feels nice for now.

I feel you begin to speak before I hear the words.

'Oh, how I've missed…' You cut yourself off very suddenly as tough you've very nearly said something you shouldn't.

'What've you missed?' I ask. Instead of raising my eyes, I lean in to place a light kiss along your jaw. You're posture has stiffened, your arms have moved from my hair to my shoulders, pushing me away from you. This time I don't fight it.

Your hands return to your sides and you shift away from me on the sofa.

'I have missed a lot of things. Having a roof, sleeping on something other than rock and a tattered blanket…'

'But that's not what you were going to say was it?'

You turn and give me a tight lipped smile.

'It doesn't matter.'

You move to stand up from the couch. I think of stopping you. Your legs _do_ need rest. But I know it won't do any good. So, for now I leave it.

'Molly should be here soon. I suppose I'd best stay for lunch. But then I_have_ to see Dumbledore.'

I should say something to this. You expect me to. I can see you waiting at the threshold to the door of the kitchen waiting…but my throat doesn't seem to be working properly. I can't speak. No…no, it's not that I can't speak, I just…won't. For what seems like the first time in my life, I have nothing to say.

You seem to sense my hesitation and use it to retreat into the kitchen.

I'm not quite certain who won that particular little battle in our own private war, I'm not entirely sure that I care. All of a sudden, an inspiring sort of calm has come over me. A great sense of peace, which instructs me to do only one thing.

Wait…


	11. The Hogs Head Inn

**Chapter Eleven: The Hogs Head Inn**

I will not pretend that the hogshead inn is a favorite haunt of mine. On the contrary, I tend to avoid it when at all possible. It does not seem possible now as I make my way through the French double doors; that horrible boars head starring down at me beadily.

Strange as it may sound, that thing frightens me.

I walk, quickly as I always do to the stool placed at the corner of the bar. As usual, Aberforth takes a moment before he nods in my direction.

'Ya' look like hell,' he grunts by way of a greeting.

'Thank you.'

Coming from Aberforth Dumbledore, this is the closest thing to a compliment I have yet received.

I order my usual Butterbeer and make sure to take a long swig before asking:

'Is the Headmaster here yet?'

This receives another grunt.

''e's upstairs. Said to meet 'im in the usual room.'

I nod, take hold of my butter beer and begin to head in the direction of the stairwell.

'Albus said to let you take the drink up there,' he informs me 'I wouldn't let you normally. Jus' don't make an 'abbit out of it.'

'I'll keep that in mind.'

I begin the walk up the long and winding staircase which leads to the second floor. I leave the stairwell only to come to a long, dark and damp hallway lined with dirt encrusted rickety doors. I finally come to a halt outside of the one which reads: 212.

I knock twice in staccato, wait a moment then thump loudly on the wooden door, this is the signal.

'Come in'

A familiar voice answers me. I open the door, which is decidedly and unnervingly creaky and walk into the room.

It is not a large room by any means; in fact it reminds me of some of the draftier cupboards in Number twelve Grimmauld place. There is one bed which is moth eaten in several places; a grey and patched curtain covers one window which appears to have rusted shut, there is a table in the middle of the room.

The fine wood finish of this table and high backed velvet chair on which Dumbledore is sitting makes me suspect that he conjured these items specifically.

'Remus,' Dumbledore greets me with a warm yet seemingly tired smile. He looks much older than I have ever seen him, and extremely worn.

'Professor,' I greet him as I reach the table.

I know he sees the limp I walk with and gives it more consideration than he ought to. In the same manner, my eyes travel to his black and shriveled hand and my mind immediately begins it's over analysis.

'Nothing to worry about,' Dumbledore assures me with a casual wave of his wounded hand.

'Is it to do with Harry?'

I have never been so bold or open in my questioning of Dumbledore before. Perhaps my time among the ferals has changed my instincts in more ways than I care to acknowledge.

Dumbledore does not seem to notice my new approach. He simply nods and attempts another smile which does not quite reach his eyes.

'Does it…?'

'Perhaps another time, Remus. Let us instead proceed to the matter at hand. You will forgive the horrible pun, I assure you it was entirely unintentional.'

As Dumbledore says this, the hand in question disappears within the folds of his robes. As desperately as I beg them not to, my eyes seem intent upon following it until I hear the headmaster speak again:

'As painful as I know it will be, I'm afraid I must ask you to recount to me the events which took place leading up to the Montgomery murder.'

'Of course.'

I hear the words fall mechanically from my mouth. When I came here, I knew what he would ask. I knew that I would have to re-live, in detail, that horrifying night. I did not expect for the memory to come back with such force.

I suppose I have grown used to not having to think. These past few hours, the hours in which I was warm and cared for…loved; the hours in which you looked after me caused me to forget what had transpired, what had happened that I was landed in such a position.

I can not forget much longer. So, I clear my throat once and begin. I do my best not to hold back. With Dumbledore the smallest detail of any encounter can be of grave importance.

It does not matter how graphic the tale is, or how, as I speak I am forced to remember the most horrific acts performed in a Werewolf colony.

I tried to stop it. Dumbledore should know that. I tried to be fearless and noble, all the things a good Gryffindor should be. In the end it did nothing. In the end all I received for my efforts were sore muscles, several cuts, and a shameful memory. In the end a boy is dead and I am here.

Dumbledore listens as intently as always. I finish knowing that it is not enough, will never be enough. I should not have strayed; I should not have tried to play the hero. I knew the assignment, I knew my part in it, and I should have contented myself with that. Why, no matter what I do, where I go, am I never satisfied?

Dumbledore is silent for a long while. He presses his fingers together, the black withered hand plays ominously against the other. Finally, he looks up to me.

'Have you spoken of this to anyone else, Remus?'

I know when he asks this, he is truly asking whether or not I have confided in you. It will do no good to lie, I know that. But the truth would be impossible to divulge in one simple sentence. A compromise is what's called for.

'Not entirely. I have not revealed nearly as much as I have this evening.'

He stares directly into my eyes. No occlumency is needed to read what is written there. I have failed. I have failed Dumbledore, my mission, Vincent Montgomery…you. I know that my drive to protect you has brought you only more pain, grief and confusion. If only I had been firmer in my stance, if only I had been more dedicated, if only you were not so persistent, if only…

Dumbledore stands up from his chair and begins to pace the floor of the room.

'What progress have you made in swaying the attitudes of the werewolf's underground?'

I can not look at him as I answer.

'Very little. These are people who have been beaten down to the point that logic no longer registers. And with Greyback's hold on the colony…'

'I knew it would not be an easy task. Now I see that it is, as I feared, impossible.'

His pacing ceases and I can see a very dim heaviness settle about him. I feel my old urge to comfort, to reassure, come to the forefront of my mind.

'It's not impossible. Information on a pivotal death eater strong hold must hold some merit. And there are those in the colony who seem…willing to listen. If I could just go back there for-'

'No Remus.'

Dumbledore speaks with such assurance and rapidity that I am stunned to speechlessness.

'We have learned all we can from the underground. And, in light of what's happened, I do not think it wise to endanger you any longer.'

'But what about…'

'If there are those who have heard your message and desire protection, I assume they know how to contact us?'

'I-yes sir.'

I could lie. I could say that I have not yet relayed certain information to the pack, that I will need time to do so.

However, I recognize that even one lie told to Dumbledore is one too many. In these trying times we _must _trust each other. Besides, using the camps, risking the stability of the entire Order simply to keep my distance from you seems incredibly selfish.

Dumbledore is right, there is no reason to return. I will simply have to find another way…

'In the mean time, Remus, I believe rest is what is in order.'

Though, my bones still ache to stand and my head still throbs in places, I believe I have had all the rest I can stand in these past two days.

'Sir-'

'That is not a request.'

Dumbledore speaks quietly yet the authority in his voice is unmistakable. I simply nod to show my understanding.

'You will stay here to night; tomorrow we will arrange to have your things sent back to Grimmauld Place.'

Again, this is not a request. It feels very foolish to explain that I truly do _not_ want to live in that house, not alone, not after…

'The Order will be informed of the new situation of course.'

I have no answer, not even a nod for this. My throat begins to tighten. I know what you will do with this information. There is no way of avoiding you now.

'Remus,' Dumbledore drops his business like demeanor.

'As you know, I do not make a habit of interfering in the personal lives of my colleagues'

_Colleague._ Though he refers to me as such, I can tell by the mere tenure of his voice that I am once again the misbehaving student reprimanded by my wise headmaster.

'I still do not intend to make a nuisance of myself. Molly and Arthur have all ready, I am sure, made their positions known to you on this.'

I can feel my palms beginning to sweat. I know he means to speak to me about you. I want to say something to stop him. I want to change the subject; I want to run for the door, I want to throw myself out the window, anything to avoid…

'I will however allow myself to voice the opinion that, while the road you walk may be dangerous it is always best to have those you love walk along it with you.'

'Even if it is more dangerous to them than it is to you?'

I have dropped pretense all together. It is no use feigning ignorance.

'Remus, if I may say so, you give yourself entirely too much credit.'

It appears Dumbledore has dropped all pretenses as well. He is now smiling at me, a student in one of his worldly lessons.

'There are many who live lives more dangerous and set apart from the world than yours. Even they have managed to find solace in the love of others.'

I have never before doubted Dumbledore's word. I have always trusted him completely and utterly but now…how can I expect him to understand? How can I expect anyone to understand? I did not choose this life of danger; I did not choose to be outcast; I was cursed. It is an affliction which I want no part of, yet will always carry with me no matter how I try to shake it. Not even Dumbledore, the greatest Wizard in the world could possibly understand such a burden.

I turn away from him and face the window. I pray that my silence will speak for me. The sigh I hear from Dumbledore tells me that it has. There will be no more discussion of love or danger tonight.

'Sleep well Remus,'

I remain facing the window as I hear the swish of his wand and I know instinctively that the table and chairs have been removed from the room.

'Good night sir,' I say without removing my eyes from the window. In the reflection of the glass, Dumbledore gives a slight bow at the door before exiting. I stand at the window for a moment longer.

The sky is purple and orange with only the faintest hint of a yellow sun disappearing behind the mountains. The feral caves.

I should take comfort in the fact that I will not be returning. I should, by all rights, be thrilled that I will no longer have to live on the edge, starving and killing and dying. I have been given a gift; I have the chance to live freely, to feel human once more.

Yet, a small voice, always present in the backward corners of my mind, whispers that I will never be free. That I will never be…human. Not really.

No matter how I try to delude myself, no matter how many others I have convinced with my façade, it can not erase what I have done, what I am.

If Dumbledore knew all that I have done in his name, without the comfort of his presence, surely he would not have spoken so gently to me, his voice laced with sympathy.

If you only knew what I surrendered, how I compromised in the name of your protection. If you had seen the blood, heard the cries of Mothers of children…I am certain you would not have rushed to my arms with such enthusiasm, with such hope.

I remember the dreams, they still come to me. Not every night, but nearly. I am powerless to stop them. They have changed now since…

I never met Vincent Montgomery, Never saw him; the little I know of him I learned afterward. He was six years old.

I can not explain how or why, but I see him now in my dreams. He has your eyes. Your natural dark brown eyes.

I recognize the sparkle in them a moment before I transform. I register his look of shock and horror I see the sparkle leave his eyes…your eyes, before the scene is lost in a sea of blood.

My stomach churns at the memory. I failed him, and in doing so, I have failed you.

I turn from the window, walk toward the bed and sink into it. It is here, in this dark, dingy mouse trap of a room, that for the first time in so many months, I place my face in my hands and cry.


	12. A Corridor in Hogwarts Castle

**Chapter 12: A Corridor in Hogwarts Castle**

The sun is setting.

It's pretty tonight. Gold beams shine dimly from behind the pink clouds which line an almost entirely orange sky. It's a contrast, at least, to the sunsets we've been getting lately.

The weather has been clouded, rainy and unseasonably chilled. Tonight however, feels warm, enjoyable.

Ironic really, because the mood could not be more strained.

You are walking next to me, straight backed and rigid. You look sideways every so often as though afraid that I have a trap ready to spring for you at any moment. It's rather amusing how awkward you are.

I've never seen you this nervous with anyone. Even when you were put through that horrible ministry interrogation a little over a year ago, you remained cool, calm…even polite. You never once rose to their bait.

I've always seen you that way; as though all of your personal feelings have been shoved aside, thrown to the background in favor of this neutral, calm, polite, façade.

It still amazes me that _I_ am the one to bring all of your previously repressed emotions into the foreground. I suppose it's a victory and I should revel in it.

But I don't feel much like reveling at the moment.

We haven't spoken since Dumbledore called you and Bill to help guard the school. I'm not exactly sure why.

'Perhaps we should split up. Cover more ground,' you break the silence abruptly.

I know you hate awkward silences as much as I do. Still, it's not my fault you're being a stubborn bastard. Besides…

'Dumbledore wanted us to stick together, said it was safer that way.'

You look torn at this. I can tell that you're of two minds: On the one hand you are the master of running from conflict, on the other; you would rather die than disobey a direct order from Dumbledore.

It seems that he's the only person you'll listen to these days. I know you would've gone back to Greyback if he hadn't told you to stay put. I should be grateful for that and I am.

I'm glad, very glad that you won't have to face that monster again.

But, having you so close…knowing that I could see you, talk to you if I wanted to, and still having to wait for you is much more difficult than it was when I didn't know where you were.

Dumbledore told us that you had returned permanently and would be living in Grimmauld Place. I've known that you were home and safe for three months. I suppose I could have gone to see you. God knows I wanted to.

But every time I set out, that small, clear voice entered the back of my mind and told me to wait.

I was supposed to wait for _you_ to do something. Three months and nothing has happened until tonight.

And Dumbledore forcing you to see me, to speak with me, does not really count. Besides, this is far from a personal matter. It's for the Order.

But _why_ exactly is it for the Order? Why did Dumbledore request extra protection tonight of all nights?

I keep trying to work out possible reasons, but it's no use. I need someone to talk these kinds of things out with. As you're the only one available at the moment, I suppose you'll have to do.

'Why did he send you here? You and Bill I mean.'

'Hogwarts required extra protection tonight.'

'But why tonight? I mean, Dumbledore's left the school plenty of times this year. One Auror at the castle gate, along with the extra enchantments has always been enough. And I've worked the night shift alone before.'

I try not to sound too bitter as I say this. Even if I do feel a tad bit smothered, especially when Dumbledore allowed _Bill_ to set off on his own.

'Tonight is different. Harry is with him.'

I stop walking. This new information confuses me.

'Harry? How do you-'

'Dumbledore called me and Kingsley into his office this afternoon.'

You stop walking a little ahead. Your back is turned towards me.

I don't understand why Dumbledore saw fit to tell you and Kingsley about this plan and not me. I am, after all, the only member of the Order of the Phoenix officially authorized to provide the castle's security. Apparently you're not the only one who underestimates me.

'I don't suppose he's told _you_ where he goes when he leaves the school?'

'No, he hasn't.'

We walk a bit further along the outer corridor. You lead, with your wand held aloft and ready, I follow faithfully in your wake.

I still don't quite understand. I'll have to ask again.

'That still doesn't explain-'

'Dumbledore assumes, or rather, he strongly suspects that something might happen tonight. Naturally, he did not want you to have to face a full scale attack on your own.'

'But why does he suspect…? '

'He's received intelligence, that's all he would tell us.'

'I still don't understand.'

'He only wants us to be on our guard. Nothing may happen at all.'

'If nothing may happen at all, then why didn't he want me on my own? I'm trained for these sorts of things. I've been in tight spots with the Auror's before and managed fine. Doesn't he know that?'

'I'm sure he does. It has nothing to do with you or your abilities.'

'You really think so? Maybe he still remembers Bellatrix Lestrange and the ministry battle. Maybe he doesn't think I'm up for much after that.'

'You know that's not true.'

'Then what other explanation is there?'

'I don't know Tonks!'

You've raised your voice again, the way you only do with me. You look, as you always do: bewildered by your own daring. You shift your eyes downward as though you are struggling to pull yourself together.

'Just...stay close behind me. Keep your wand at the ready in case we need to contact Bill.'

Your voice is sharp and uncharacteristically harsh. Still, I can not mistake the note of desperate protection in your words: "stay close behind me".

It's enough to make me feel adored and smothered at the same time.

We walk along in silence. The air feels thicker than it did before.

'Tonks,' you finally speak with a sigh.

'Tonks, I- I'm sorry. You don't deserve to be spoken to like that. I just…'

'It's all right Remus, I know.'

I attempt to smile at you, though I know that I don't quite manage it, your expression is much too understanding. It's the type of face I've seen you wear with Harry.

'I must say you're taking this very well.'

'What am I taking very well?'

I'm surprised. You're usually the one who likes to pretend that this…whatever this is between us does not exist. It's odd to hear you acknowledge it.

'I-well, this…' you stutter and stumble, which is exceptionally rare for you.

'Nothing. Forget I mentioned it.'

Apparently our sudden shift in roles has wrong footed you. Another private victory I should revel in.

And though I still do not feel much like reveling, I can not help the small smile that appears on my lips.

We walk further along the corridor; the silence is still awkward, though no longer unbearably so. It's not long before we pass one of the large windows along the bridge.

The sun has nearly set over the mountains in the distance and a dark blue blanket is beginning to cover the sky.

'Nice tonight, isn't it?'

'Lovely,' you say quietly; though, you do not turn to look out the window. I crane my neck, trying to read the expression on your face.

You catch me in this attempt and throw me another smile I recognize. This is the one you use when you've just spoken a truth you had not meant to voice.

We continue to walk. Not knowing what else to do, I talk:

'It hasn't been lately. Nice at this time of the evening, I mean. Strange really. It's been warm and sunny during the day but once the sun starts to set the clouds roll in. We've had three thunderstorms in the past week, did you know that?'

'No I didn't,' to my surprise, you seem to be fighting back a laugh.

'What're you laughing about?'

I ask, desperate to keep conversation going as easily as possible.

'Nothing,' you snigger slightly. Something, I know. 'I was just remembering our first assignment together.'

I know that you really mean our first argument, though, in the present climate, you'd rather not say that. For some reason, the fact that you can laugh about that now simply makes me more irritable.

'I did _not_ ruin that operation with my "_relentless nattering"_ no matter what you say.'

I feel the old need to defend myself return with full force. Far from appearing angry, as you had in the distant past, you are chuckling openly.

Though I don't really see what you've got to chuckle _about_. That whole debacle could have been avoided if you had been keeping an eye on Malfoy instead of telling me to be quiet. And aside from that…

'It was my first mission for the Order, I'd had very little sleep and, well…even if it _was _just slightly, my fault, there was no reason to snap at me the way you did.'

It was the first time I heard you raise your voice.

'You do realize you could have been killed, don't you?', you asked me sharply.

Malfoy had scampered off without us being able to hear so much of a hint as to what he was planning. After we gave our report of the failed stake out to Dumbledore, you asked to speak to me alone and then proceeded to lecture me about the importance of maintaining silence durring top secret missions.

'He could easily have decided to throw a killing curse in our direction for good measure! I can not _force_ to be more careful when on missions. It is your life. But in the future kindly remember that there are others who care, very much for what happens to you!'

I remember snapping something back about how you always insisted on treating me like a child and were behaving like a condecsending prat. But what you said stayed with me, even after I stormed out of the room and slammed the door in my wake.

You had told me, in your own way, that you cared about me.

You are still smiling as we continue down the corridor and I think about how odd it feels to see you happy again.

'I did apologize for raising my voice.'

'But not for what you said. It wasn't _entirely_ my fault. I mean I can't help it if I tend to talk my head off when I'm uncomfortable.'

'A habit I've since grown used to.'

'What d'you mean a habit you've grown…?'

The look you give me stops me in mid sentence.

'I'm doing it again aren't I?'

'Just a bit. Though tonight, I find a break in the silence quite enjoyable.'

'So then, my feeling uncomfortable is a good thing?'

'That's not what I meant.'

'Then what did you mean?'

You hesitate. For a moment I'm afraid that I've said the wrong thing again. I prepare myself to answer my own question or to make some kind of joke to lighten the mood. Then, after several moments, I see you turn to me and smile with a twinkle of mischief in your eye.

'I only meant that for _this _mission, your _relentless nattering _is more of a help than a hindrance.'

You're teasing me. You haven't done that since you stopped saying my name. It feels strange to hear you do it again, though not at all unpleasant.

'At least _this _mission doesn't require you to keep a constant look out. Now you can tell me to shut up when ever you like without fear of frightening off the person you're supposed to be tailing.'

You laugh and it's amazing how exhilarating it is to hear the sound again.

'I suppose I was a bit responsible for that. Is it too late to ask your forgiveness?'

''S never too late. You know that.'

'Then let me take the opportunity to say that I was, as you put it, a "condescending prat", and I'm sorry.'

'Apology accepted,' I say as refined as I possibly can. We've stopped against a wall in the castle's west wing and you are staring at me wearing a wistful half smile. It makes me uncomfortable. So, true to form, I continue to talk:

'And, I apologize for calling you a condescending prat. You _did _have a point I suppose even if it was-'

I do not get a chance to finish the sentence because you are kissing me. It's far from your average friendly peck, nor is it the soft gentle kiss we shared in December. You've pinned me against the wall and forcefully, passionately, push your lips against mine.

I'm all at once flying and falling and feeling sensations I never thought were possible. I throw my arms around your neck so that I will have something to hold onto. Your hands seem to be everywhere at once, on my waist, caressing my back, tangling in my hair, you end by placing one hand on my hip, pushing aside the fabric where my robe parts and-

You pull away and the kiss ends as abruptly as it began. You are gasping as though you had nearly drowned.

'I'm sorry,' you say quietly. Those two small words have never sounded so horribly wrong. You move your eyes back to the floor and stumble away from me. 'I…we shouldn't have…'

You sink down against the wall across from me and move one hand over your face.

'I didn't know that _we_ did anything,' I say, glaring darkly at you.

I shouldn't be so harsh; I can tell that you are punishing yourself far worse than I ever could. Still, I can not understand why you continue to deny yourself this basic right.

'I don't know what….I've no idea what I was…we should go back. We're loosing time here.'

You move your hand against the wall and push yourself up. You begin to walk again and, even though I want to talk, to scream, to accuse you of pushing me past my breaking point, I know that it's no use.

I steel myself to follow silently in your wake when…

'Tonks, Remus! Come quickly!'

I turn sharply as do you, at the sound of the small shaking voice. Hermione Granger is running towards us down the corridor, a blonde girl I recognize as having been at the department of Mysteries is walking at a brisk pace along side her.

'Hermione, Luna, what is it? What's happened?'

'Death eaters! In the castle!' Hermione exclaims, her face very pale. 'They came in through the room of requirement. We think they're headed to Dumbledore's office!'

You only have to look sideways at me once before we're both following the girls' lead as quickly as we can.

In the span of a moment, our private war has been suspended in favor of the larger task at hand.

_As Always, appologies for the delay in updating. Only two more chapters left, and reviews really would be most helpful!_


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